A River of Blood
by Bill382
Summary: With King Joffrey dead, and foreign invaders marching through the Riverlands, Hand of the King Tywin Lannister must march the armies of Westeros to war once again. But the invading army from the far west may have other plans...
1. Prologue

Author's Note: This story is the second in a series, preceded by A Man of War.

* * *

Lyel Rivers hated standing the evening watch at the Twins. He swore that he could hear the laughter of his kinsman through the walls behind him. The rest of Lord Walder Frey's bastard children were busy enjoying food, women and ale in the western keep, while Lyel and two other men-at-arms guarded the gate, which led to the stone bridge across the Green Fork river. Lyel sighed with boredom as he leaned against his spear. Scarcely any travelers came through after sunset, especially after the Red Wedding. Why not simply close the bridge at night? Old Walder no longer needed to rely exclusively on the toll road, not with House Lannister watching his back. But here Lyel stood, standing an unnecessary watch on yet another dull night.

The faint glow of a lantern appeared down the road. Lyel snapped to attention at the sight of it. A lantern on the road meant travelers were approaching the Twins. The clopping of horse hooves and the rumbling of wagon wheels soon followed. Two wagons were coming up the road, one behind the other. Both were drawn by a pair of draft horses, and piloted by a lone driver. What were they doing on the roads so late at night?

Lyel stepped out ahead of the lead wagon, forcing the driver to halt his horses. He then walked up to the wagon's left side to address the driver. The stranger was wearing a dark cloak that concealed most of his clothing. His wide hood obscured much his face in shadow, except for his chin, which was bearded. The man reminded Lyel of a shady character he'd once played dice with at a roadside inn. He'd lost a fair amount of coin that day. The wagon's cargo, Lyel noticed, seemed like barrels covered by a tarp. What were these men transporting?

"What's your business, traveler?" Lyel inquired.

"We have a delivery from King's Landing," the stranger replied in an accent Lyel hadn't heard before.

"Where are you headed?"

"The Dreadfort."

"That's quite a long journey you've got ahead. The toll is ten dragons if you wish to cross the river."

The stranger drew a small pouch and tossed it to Lyel, who caught it with his free hand. After counting the gold, Lyel unlocked the gate and motioned for the travelers to continue. The wagons rumbled through the gate without their drivers looking back once. Lyel locked the gate behind them and returned to his post without a second thought. Three hours later, as the moon climbed highest in the sky, another Frey man-at-arms relieved Lyel from his watch. Grateful to be off-watch, Lyel returned to his chambers, emptied his bowels, removed his armor, and rolled into bed.

He had just shut his eyes when the explosion sounded.

Lyel rushed outside and onto the bridge. Many of his kin were already outside, wondering just what the matter was. Lyel answered that question the hard way, after nearly falling into the Green Fork. A man-at-arms holding a torch came up beside Lyel. Together they saw just what in all the seven hells was wrong.

"The bridge is gone!" someone exclaimed.

And indeed it was. One third of the bridge – the center portion - had collapsed into the river. Only the stone columns that once supported the roadway remained standing. House Frey had been robbed of its toll bridge. This bridge was the only crossing for hundreds of miles. Without it, House Frey no longer held sway over travelers crossing the Green Fork. The Twins had been reduced from an essential stronghold down to just another castle. Lord Walder was going to be furious. Lyel only hoped that Walder Frey wouldn't do to his own family what he did to the King in the North.

"Hey, what's that?" a woman's voice asked.

Lyel saw it too. It was a piece of parchment attached to a hook, shoved between the bricks. There was writing on it. Lyel removed the parchment from its holder and held the message out in front of him. The man-at-arms illuminated the parchment with his torch while Lyle read the message aloud.

"_Dear House Frey, the North remembers, and so do the First Men. No amount of water can wash our brothers' blood from your hands. Assist your southern allies in any way, and expect further trouble. We are watching you. Know that winter is coming, and we are her harbinger. House Lannister cannot protect you, nor can the Seven, or the boy king on his Iron Throne. Sincerely, the Ferenese Republic."_

Lyel tucked the parchment into his belt. Lord Walder would want to read it as soon as possible. He dreaded having to deliver the message.


	2. Willis

Admiral Willis Dagher stood on the quarterdeck of the hundred-gun man of war _Justice_. The sun was rising ahead of the vessel. A brisk, chilled wind blew in strongly from the northwest. Waves lapped against the hull and parted as the bow plowed onwards through the Sunset Sea. The battle standard of the Ferenese Republic flew proudly from her stern. Around the mighty ship floated fourteen more Ferenese vessels - six one hundred-gun men of war and eight seventy four-gun ships. Together they were the Republic's primary strike force, ready to engage any foe that dared threaten them. Sailing ahead of the Ferenese squadron were thirty sleek, swift, ironborn longships. All were vessels of the fearsome Iron Fleet. King Victarion Greyjoy's flagship, the _Iron Victory_, sailed at the head of the fleet, leading the way eastward, with the kraken of House Greyjoy emblazoned on her sail. Behind the Ferenese warships sailed two dozen more vessels of various sizes and rigs. All of them were transport ships, laden down with troops, supplies, horses, artillery, and ammunition. Six smaller warships - three brigs and three schooners - escorted the transport craft, sailing in a defensive screen around the convoy. Ten ironborn longships sailed with the transport convoy, ready to deter any attempted attack by pirates, sellsails, or hostile warships. Dagher knew that protecting the transports was essential to this mission. If enough equipment was lost or captured, then the Republic risked failing to gain a foothold on the Westerosi mainland. Such misfortune could doom the expedition. Fortunately, as of the last report, every ship in the convoy was intact.

A thin gray line appeared on the northeastern horizon. Willis drew his spyglass, focused its lens, and saw that the coast had entered visual range, about twenty miles away. He could also faintly make out the keep of a castle situated near the shore. The castle, Willis knew, was the fleet's destination: the coastal fortress of Seagard. Back at Pyke, old Maester Kenyl had educated Willis on Seagard's history. The fortress was built centuries ago, to protect the nearby town and coast against ironborn raiders. A tall bell tower, known as the Booming Tower, stood in the town's center. Whenever ironborn vessels were spotted approaching the shore, the Booming Tower's bell would sound. The townsfolk would retreat for the castle at the bell's sound, and Seagard's defenders would prepare for battle. The Booming Tower had last sounded nearly twenty years ago during Grejoy's Rebellion. Willis had no doubt that the old bell would toll its tune again today. House Mallister, loyal to the late King Robb Stark, owned the castle, and also possessed a small fleet of six longships and two war galleys.

"We're nearing the coast, sir," said the voice of Captain Merrel, the _Justice_'s officer in charge. The Captain had come up behind Willis unexpectedly.

Willis lowered his spyglass, then briefly eyed the sailors working the deck before turning to Merrel. "Very well," he said. "Signal the fleet to stand by. We don't know for certain what awaits us near the shore."

"Aye aye, sir." Merrel ordered the necessary signal flags hoisted aloft. The other thirteen warships acknowledged the message by raising the same flags, then lowering them. Ahead, the Iron Fleet appeared to be preparing for battle. Wondering what for, Willis drew his spyglass and focused on the waters ahead of the ironborn vessels. Moored near the town's wharf was the defense fleet that Maester Kenyl had mentioned. Their sails were being raised, along with their banners. Willis expected to see them flying the silver eagle of House Mallister, but the defense fleet wasn't flying those colors. Instead the twin, blue towers of House Frey flew over the vessels.

_House Frey is loyal to the Iron Throne_, Willis thought as he stowed his spyglass. _They are foes_. "Captain, signal the fleet to prepare for battle. We're in for a hostile reception."

"Beat to quarters!" Captain Merrel shouted.

The marine bandsman sounded his drum rapidly. Every man aboard jumped into action at the alarm. Sailors and marines moved with purpose across the man of war's decks. Gunports were opened. Cannons were loaded and run out. Armaments were carried up from the hold. Signal flags were hoisted aloft. Within three minutes, the entire Ferenese task force was ready for combat.

Willis returned his attention to the Iron Fleet. The eight Frey longships were engaging the ironborn longships, loosing arrows at their foes. The_ Iron Victory_ had come alongside one of the hostile warships, clearly making an attempt to capture it. Another Frey vessel was attempting to make a mad dash through the Iron Fleet. The two Frey war galleys were rowing out to meet the invaders, aiming their reinforced, ram-toting bows at the ironborn longships. One ironborn vessel, the _Sea Bear_, was rammed amidships by one of the galleys. Unfazed, the Bear's ironborn crew abandoned their vessel and clambered aboard their attacker. A melee erupted on the galley's main deck. Not five minutes later, the Frey galley slowed to a stop, defeated and captured. On shore, the Booming Tower's watchmen sounded the immense bell, whose note carried across the bay.

The fleet was now less than a mile away from the coast. Willis ordered the fleet to reduce sail and steer southeasterly to avoid grounding. He then noticed that a lone Frey longship had escaped the Iron Fleet and was steering straight towards the _Justice_'s port beam. Were they seeking refuge? Willis decided that was doubtful. The longship wasn't slowing her pace, nor was she flying a white banner of surrender. The Admiral heard Captain Merrel shouting orders at his crew.

"She's not in range yet!" Merrel roared. "Hold until they get close."

Willis watched as the longship closed to within one hundred yards of the _Justice_. He knew that the Frey vessel had no chance of defeating the Ferenese vessel, though he admired their bravery. If any of the longship's crew survived today's events, he would offer them amnesty.

"Fire!" barked Merrel.

The _Justice_'s port guns all belched smoke and let out a deafening roar as they discharged. The ship rolled noticeably to starboard when the cannons fired, but quickly righted herself. Though most of the shots splashed into the sea, Willis watched the Frey longship get struck no less than seven times. Her mast and figurehead were both shot away. Three holes appeared in her bow, one of which was right above the waterline. Within minutes she began to founder as her crew abandoned ship. A few men clung to wreckage as their ship sank out from beneath them.

"Poor bastards," Merrel muttered. "They never should've challenged us."

"Indeed," said Willis, seemingly not concerned.

The battle ended shortly after the Frey longship's sinking. All seven of the remaining hostile warships had been captured by the Iron Fleet. The ironborn lost only one ship, and the Ferenese fleet hadn't even been scratched. Willis ordered the fleet to anchor. With the enemy defeated at sea, it was time to go ashore. Perhaps Seagard's Frey defenders would be less willing to fight now that their fleet was in shambles. Then again, one always felt invincible from behind the walls of a castle, even when under siege. But who commanded the forces of House Frey at Seagard? Willis looked forward to finding out for himself.


	3. Victarion

The Iron Fleet had landed safely at Seagard. Victarion Greyjoy, reigning King of the Iron Islands, watched as his fellow ironmen beached their ships and disembarked, rallying around the banners of their respective houses. Most of the ironmen, including Victarion himself, came dressed for battle, clad in armor and brandishing weapons. Victarion was dressed in a full suit of plate armor, carried a kite shield with his house's sigil painted on it, and had a war ax slung on his right hip. His helmet, custom-forged by Pyke's finest smith, resembled the head of a kraken. When dressed for battle, Victarion's intimidating appearance perfectly suited his office as king.

The King watched as the Ferenese army began coming ashore behind the ironmen. Soldiers in blue uniforms armed with muskets set foot on the beach first, followed closely by longboats carrying horses. Several broad, flat-bottomed boats laden with field artillery were towed ashore by smaller boats rowed by burly, muscular Ferenese sailors. Victarion was fascinated by the Ferenese cannons. A single shot from such a weapon inflicted more damage than a hundred warriors armed with greatswords. The king had asked Admiral Dagher about the forging of cannons, but the Ferenese commander evaded the inquiry. Perhaps Victarion's maester and blacksmiths could devise a way to construct cannons of their own...

A pair of riders mounted atop twin chestnut mares approached Victarion and his crew. The lead rider was Admiral Willis Dagher, dressed in his finest black uniform with gold trim. Following beside him was a tall man wearing a blue uniform, who Victarion recognized as General Robert Winston, commander of the Ferenese army. The Admiral halted his horse when he neared Victarion.

"Good morning, your Grace," Willis said in greeting as offered a salute.

"Same to you, Admiral," Victarion returned, attempting to show courtesy. "What's this about?"

"About getting the Frey garrison out of Seagard. I think it's best if we offer them amnesty."

Victarion grunted. "Let them walk out? Why not just storm the keep?"

"We'll attack the fortress if they refuse to surrender. Besides, we both know what happened when you last stormed a castle..."

"Yeah, I nearly killed you." Victarion shook his armored head, grudgingly accepting Dagher's idea. "Someone fetch me a horse! Now!"

An ironborn man-at-arms returned a short time later with a saddled bay horse in tow behind him. Victarion mounted the beast with some effort. The king and two officers then rode through the deserted town's narrow streets, followed by sixteen mounted men - a mix of Ferenese cavalry and ironborn men-at-arms. Two standard bearers joined the posse as well, one carrying the blue cross of the Republic, while the other hoisted the kraken of House Greyjoy. Admiral Dagher halted the riders ahead of the city gates, just outside of crossbow range.

A Frey sentinel, who had watched the riders approach the castle, disappeared from the wall. The castle's heavy wooden gates creaked open a short time later. Ten mounted soldiers rode out to meet the newcomers. The lead rider, Victarion noticed, was a wiry, rather stout man with a coarse black beard. He wore chainmail underneath a white surcoat, on which was emblazoned the badge of House Frey. His face shared many of the weasel-like features common amongst men of his house. The stallion beneath him was pitch black and powerful.

"Who's their leader?" Dagher whispered to Victarion.

"I don't know," he whispered back. "But he's a Frey."

The Frey riders stopped about twenty yards from the Ferenese and ironborn party. Their leader rode closer, moving to converse with his foe. Victarion, Dagher, and Winston all rode forward as well. The two parties halted three yards apart.

Admiral Dagher spoke first. "Greetings good sir," he said politely. "I am Admiral Willis Dagher of the Ferenese Navy. With me is Victarion Greyjoy, King of the Iron Islands, and General Robert Winston of the Ferenese Republic."

"Black Walder Frey," the rider returned in a gruff manner. "Great-grandson of Lord Walder Frey. I command the garrison here at Seagard."

"I hear you also enjoy bedding your great-grandfather's wives," Victarion taunted. "How many of 'his' children are yours?"

"More than they are yours, your Grace. I hear women vomit at the sight of you."

"Gentlemen..." Dagher groaned, trying to maintain his composure. "We're not here to make jests. Black Walder Frey, you have until nightfall to evacuate this castle. In exchange, you and your host shall be granted safe passage back to the Twins."

"Or you can bend the knee and swear fealty to the Iron Islands," Victarion suggested.

Black Walder remained silent, contemplating his choices. He eyed the Admiral with suspicion. "And if we refuse to leave...?" he asked.

"Then at sunset, your castle will fall," Dagher replied sternly. "All who do not yield shall be put to the sword."

Black Walder turned his horse and rode back towards Seagard, his escort following behind. The castle's gate closed and locked once the riders passed through.

"I guess this means we're in for a battle," General Winston remarked.

"Correct," Dagher affirmed, looking at the army officer. "Have one of your field artillery units ready for bombardment. Their target is the castle's gate."

"Yes sir."

Willis looked to his left at Victarion. "Your Grace, I ask that you get your ironmen ready for an assault. It will still be some time before the rest of our Ferenese troops get ashore."

Victarion nodded in agreement. "It shall be done, Admiral. I'll lead the assault personally. Black Walder will regret challenging us."

* * *

When the setting orange sun touched the western horizon, five Ferenese artillery guns began shooting. The sharp booming of cannon fire echoed off stone walls and carried across the bay. Victarion, standing downwind of the artillery, briefly coughed as the wind carried off the acrid gun smoke. Mounted on his captured horse, the Iron Captain watched as one round after another struck the immense wooden gate, shattering it little by little. Soon the gate was dangling on its only remaining hinge. After thirty minutes of sustained bombardment, the ponderous gate toppled outward, completely severed from the wall. A cloud of dust billowed up around the door's broken timbers.

Victarion rode out ahead of the assembled ironborn host, turning his horse to face them. Some two thousand armed and armored men were waiting to assault Seagard. Behind them was a detachment of Ferenese cavalry, some three hundred strong. The Iron Captain hefted his shield and drew his ax.

"Men of the Isles," he called with bravado, "before us stands Seagard. Never before has this castle fallen to the ironborn. That changes tonight!"

The ironborn roared their approval, raising their weapons and beating against their shields.

"What is dead may never die!" Victarion bellowed.

"WHAT IS DEAD MAY NEVER DIE!" his countrymen screamed back.

The Iron Captain pointed his ax at Seagard. "To battle!"

The ironborn infantry surged forward, flowing like water around Victarion and his stallion. The king urged his mount forward, keeping his horse at a trot so as not to outrun the men on foot. Arrows and crossbow bolts flew from the walls as the ironmen came within range, slicing through flesh and mail. A man ahead of Victarion collapsed with an arrow in his throat. Another died screaming with a bolt protruding from his chest. Two bolts struck the king's shield, while a third bounced harmlessly off his cuirass. The ironmen thundered onward through the unguarded entrance... and into a shield wall of Frey men-at-arms.

Victarion guided his horse around the wall of wood and steel before he could crash into it. The ironborn men-at-arms hit the shield wall with immense force and - much to their king's surprise - broke the wall with little effort. A melee erupted in the courtyard as the once-organized Frey defense descended into chaos. Blades flashed, arrows and bolts flew, shields broke, armor crumpled, blood spilled, and men died.

"Kill them all!" a familiar voice bellowed.

Victarion spotted Black Walder near the castle's main entrance. Also on horseback, he was clearly trying to rally the remaining defenders to him. The Iron Captain knew that Walder's effort was in vain. Perhaps the Frey warrior knew it too, but refused to admit defeat. "Black Walder!" Victarion roared, and charged his horse at the hostile commander.

Black Walder spotted Victarion's attack. The Iron Captain swung his ax with great effort, but Walder parried the attack with his sword. The two commanders became locked in a horseback duel, until a particularly powerful blow knocked the Frey leader from his saddle. He sprawled briefly on the ground before recovering his weapon and standing back up. Victarion dismounted as well, walking in an intimidating manner towards his foe. Black Walder slashed at Victarion, but the king blocked the blow with his shield and then knocked Walder to the ground. He landed hard on his back, dropping his sword in the process. Victarion pinned Walder down beneath his shield and raised his war ax for the killing blow...

Black Walder threw up his arms and shouted, "Yield! I yield!"

Victarion swung his ax downward, burying its blade in the dirt beside Black Walder's head.

"Smart move," said the ironborn king.

House Frey's hold over Seagard ended with the sunset.


	4. Tywin

Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King, paced back and forth in his office, high up in the Red Keep's Tower of the Hand. King Joffrey Baratheon, Tywin's eldest grandson, was dead. The boy monarch had been poisoned at his own wedding, supposedly by his dwarf uncle Tyrion. Tommen Baratheon now held the throne, inheriting a war-torn kingdom from his older brother. Fortunately, House Tyrell remained loyal to their allegiance with House Lannister, and Lady Margaery seemed eager to marry the young king. Cersei, Tywin's haughty daughter, was clearly jealous of Margaery's attachment to Tommen, and quite possibly would seek to undermine the new queen's authority. Tywin, ever the firm-handed father, needed to ensure that didn't happen. Cersei was never one to easily accept changes that didn't favor her.

Just after Tywin took a seat behind his oaken desk, a knock sounded at the door. "Come in," said the Hand, sounding annoyed.

Grand Maester Pycelle came through the door. The Maester appeared disheveled this morning, with his gray robe stained and his white hair unkempt. His maester's chain clanked softly as he walked like decorative bells on a draft horse's harness. "Messages for you, my lord," said the Maester as he withdrew two little scrolls from a pouch. "Two ravens arrived this morning."

Tywin took the scrolls from Pycelle, broke the seal off one, and read its contents. The message was signed by Lord Walder Frey of the Twins. Lord Frey claimed that his castle's toll bridge had been destroyed by unknown saboteurs, possibly Northern sympathizers out for revenge. Supposedly a "ball of fire" had destroyed the bridge within a few seconds. Tywin recognized this phenomenon as an explosion; they occasionally occurred in the gold mines when natural gases caught fire. But how had such a tremendous blast happened on the surface, far from any mines? This warranted investigating. Lord Frey's letter concluded by mentioning that a faction called the 'Ferenese Republic' had claimed responsibility for the attack? Who were they? And what was their business in the realm?

"Grand Maester," Tywin said as he looked up from the message, "Have you ever heard of the Ferenese Republic?"

Pycelle cleared his throat. "I have heard of them, my lord. Maester Kenyl used to speak of the Republic back during my time at the Citadel."

"Tell me everything you remember," Tywin instructed.

"Well, according to legend, some First Men fled Westeros when the Andals invaded. They landed in the Forest Islands, to the west of Westeros, where they formed a country of their own with the indigenous Ferens. It's also said that no ship sailing to the Forest Islands from Westeros has ever returned."

"Curious. I wonder why the Ferens chose isolation from their ancestral homeland..."

"Also my lord, the Ferenese badge is a blue cross on a field of gold. Or so Maester Kenyl taught us."

Tywin broke the seal of the second scroll. He read through the message, then shook his head disapprovingly. It was clear to Pycelle that the letter contained poor news.

"Grand Maester, please fetch the king. I need to teach my grandson an important lesson."

"Yes my lord," said Pycelle, who then turned and shuffled out of the room.

* * *

King Tommen Baratheon entered the Hand's office a short time later. The young monarch was dressed plainly in a red leather tunic with matching trousers, belt, and dark boots. A golden crown rested atop his head, blending in well with his lightly-colored hair. Queen Regent Ceresi Lannister followed behind him, with Grand Maester Pycelle bringing up the rear. The Queen Regent was clad in a deep blue gown with a silver trim that bared more of her cleavage than the Hand cared to notice. Tywin was less than pleased by Cersei's presence. Ever since Joffrey's death, she had acted like a hawk, constantly watching Tommen's every action. It seemed to Tywin that Tommen couldn't use the privy without Cersei knowing about it. While the Lannister lord understood that Cersei loved her children, the lengths she went to protect them were just... irrational. Tommen required some separation from his mother if he was to become a proper king. But this wasn't the time for indulging in family matters.

"You sent for me, grandfather?" Tommen asked.

"Yes, your Grace. Please sit down."

The king took a seat across from Tywin. Cersei stood over her son's right shoulder. The Hand passed a scroll to the king. "Tell what it says," he instructed.

"To King Tommen," the boy monarch read aloud, "the Twins have come under attack. A tremendous noise and fireball ripped across the toll bridge, destroying it. I do not know just who is responsible for wrecking my bridge, though I suspect that the perpetrators were northmen out for revenge. A threatening message was recovered from the debris signed by the 'Ferenese Republic.' I formally request masons to help rebuild the bridge. Signed Walder Frey, Lord of the Twins." Tommen placed the scroll on the desk when he finished reading.

"So you understand what happened at the Twins, yes?" asked Tywin.

Tommen nodded. His crown shifted forward slightly.

"Good. Now, another raven also arrived this morning." Tywin passed the second scroll to Tommen. Again the king read the message aloud.

"Ships spotted approaching the Western coast. Thirty ironborn longships, and fifteen vessels of unknown origin. Ironborn are being led by House Greyjoy. Unknown ships are flying banners showing a blue cross on a field of gold. Both are landing troops. Please send help. Signed Black Walder Frey, commander of Seagard."

"Based on the information provided in both those letters," said Tywin to his king, "can you guess who the sigil of a blue cross on gold belongs to?"

Tommen took a fleeting glance at his mother, unsure of how to answer. She simply nodded in encouragement. "House... House Mallister?"

Tywin shook his head. "No, your Grace. This sigil does not belong to any house, but to a nation: the Ferenese Republic."

"What's the Ferenese Republic?" Cersei asked.

Tywin shot Cersei a stern disapproving look, then answered her question for the king. "The Ferenese Republic is a country to the west, out in the Sunset Sea. They are descended from the First Men of Westeros, driven from their homes when our ancestors, the Andals, conquered the Westerlands. Now they have returned."

"Why?" asked Tommen.

Tywin approved of the young king's inquisitiveness. "I don't know, your Grace. But understand that their presence means that the kingdom is now facing a different kind of threat than before. Remember the wars we fought against Robb Stark? And Stannis Baratheon? Those were local conflicts, easily ended in our favor. This, on the other hand, is an _invasion_. A foreign power has landed on our soil. The independence of the Seven Kingdoms is being challenged by the Ferenese Republic."

"I understand, grandfather."

"Good. Now, as king, it is your choice to decide how we deal with this new threat. We can either attempt to negotiate a peace, or go to war." Tywin looked his grandson in the eye. "What is your decision, your Grace?"

Cersei went to whisper something in Tommen's ear, but Tywin stopped her. The answer that Tommen gave was his own. "We'll attempt to make peace," said the king. "Perhaps we can make peace without hurting anyone."

Tywin nodded approvingly. "Very well, your Grace," said Tywin. "I shall make the arrangements myself. Thank you."

"You are welcome, grandfather," Tommen replied as he stood up to leave. Cersei followed her son out the door. Grand Maester Pycelle turned to leave as well, until Tywin motioned for him to stay.

"Grand Maester, I need you to send two ravens. The first goes to Harrenhal. Instruct Ser Gregor Clegane that he is to scout the region around Seagard for enemy activity. The second raven goes to Riverrun. Inform our host assembled there of the situation at Seagard."

"At once, my lord," said Pycelle softly with a slight bow, and departed the Hand's office.


	5. Asha

With the skies clear and the wind brisk, Asha Greyjoy stood tall on the deck of her sleek ironborn longship, the _Black Wind_. The ship's lone, dark sail, stretched tight with the wind from astern, proudly displayed the golden kraken of House Greyjoy. Ahead of the longship rode a much larger vessel carrying three dozen white sails, every one of them aloft. The ship, when viewed from astern with her three rows of glass windows and decorative carvings painted white, could possibly be mistaken for a building, but Asha and her crew were aware that the colossal ship was in fact a floating fortress. This vessel, named the _Revenge_, was two hundred and twenty-seven feet in length - more than twice the length of the ninety-eight foot_ Black Wind_ \- carried a crew of eight hundred men, and carried one hundred cannons within her hull. She was the largest vessel in the Ferenese First Fleet, as well as the flagship of Admiral Willis Dagher, who had ordered the man of war to sail south, straight to the city of Lannisport. At the Admiral's request, and as a show of her loyalty to the joint Ferenese-ironborn cause, Asha, her crew, and the _Black Wind_ now accompanied the _Revenge_ on her mission to the Westerlands.

The western shore appeared on the horizon ahead of the two ships as they sailed eastward. To the northeast rested a mountain that dominated the surrounding landscape. Though she had never before seen the mountain, Asha recognized it as the seat of House Lannister, and the most secure castle in all of Westeros: Casterly Rock. The towering mountain stood over two thousand feet tall, with rocky slopes almost impossible to climb, with numerous tunnels, gold mines, living quarters, stables, and even a port occupying its interior. A stone castle was perched like a crow's nest atop the Rock's summit, constantly keeping watch on the city and harbor below. It was said that Casterly Rock had never fallen to an invading army at any time in its history, but Asha knew that if any one faction could change that, the Ferenese Republic could. How she would love to watch the lions of Lannister suffer for their sins.

Lannisport itself came into view a short time later. While not as large as King's Landing or Oldtown, Lannisport was still a city of renown, particularly for the work of its many goldsmiths. The city was surrounded by a stout wall for defense, outside of which stood a wide harbor with a sizable wharf. Asha counted a total of fifty ships moored in the harbor's anchorage and secured to the wharf, thirty of which - ten longships and twenty war galleys - were warships of House Lannister, painted red with gold trim and flying the crimson banner with a golden lion in the center. The remaining vessels were all merchant vessels of various rigs, sizes, and colors. Asha noticed several ironborn longships in the harbor but, not surprisingly, no Ferenese ships (except for the _Revenge_).

The _Revenge_ hove-to as she entered the anchorage. Aloft, the Ferenese sailors hauled the sails back into their stowed positions. Her starboard anchor splashed into the water soon after. The anchor line grew tight, then slackened as the heavy fluke bit into the mud. With the _Black Wind_ lacking a sufficient anchor of her own, Asha ordered her crew to sail their ship alongside the man of war, and lash the two hulls together. When this operation was completed, a doorway in the _Revenge_'s hull opened up, from which a sailor dropped a rope ladder, allowing access between the vessels. Asha ascended the rope ladder first, ahead of her crew, and was greeted by Captain Richard Collins.

"Good morning, Captain Greyjoy," said the young, fair-skinned officer as he extended an arm. Richard was dressed in his usual black uniform with gold trimmings and matching breeches and leather boots. A sword belt was slung across his waste, from which hung a smallsword made from Valyrian steel. A tricorner hat covered his brown hair. His finely pressed uniform stood in contrast to Asha's suit of leather armor and the war axe at her side.

"Thank you, Richard," she replied with a faint smile as she took Richard's hand and shook it. "It's a fine morning in Lannisport."

"Indeed. Shall we go topside? I'd like to take a better look at our opposition."

Asha nodded. "Lead the way."

Richard led Asha up to the ship's quarterdeck, from where they observed the moored Lannister fleet. Asha took notice of the largest warship, a two-decked galley of three hundred oars named the _Golden Lion_. The remaining war galleys carried about one hundred and fifty oars, while the longships were approximately the same size as the _Black Wind_.

"This is quite a fleet they've assembled," Asha commented. "The Lannisters could challenge the Iron Fleet in open battle, given its weakened state."

"They don't need to know that," said Richard. "If anything, pretend that the ironborn never challenged the Republic in the first place."

"Captain!" a Ferenese sailor's voice called. "There's a boat approaching from the wharf. They're flying Lannister colors."

Asha and Richard both walked to the ship's starboard rail. Indeed there was a boat making its way toward the anchored man of war. She was a longboat laden with six oarsmen, two men-at-arms, a standard bearer, and a knight. The knight had fair skin, long golden hair, and a full beard that matched the hair on his head. A crimson cloak flowed behind him, complimenting his steel plate armor with gold overlay. The lion heads on his pauldrons marked him as a member of House Lannister. The knight stood up as his boat neared the _Revenge_'s starboard side.

"Ferenese warship," hailed the knight. "Where is your commander?"

Asha leaned over the rail while Richard did the same on her right. Both captains looked down intently at the Lannister knight.

"Greetings, Ser Knight," said Richard in greeting. "I am Captain Richard Collins of the _Revenge_." He then gestured with his head to Asha. "With me is Asha Greyjoy, captain of the _Black Wind_."

"Asha Greyjoy? Balon's daughter?"

"That's correct," Asha confirmed. "And who are you?"

"Ser Daven Lannister, acting Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West. What brings you here to Lannisport, Captain Collins?"

"We are here on the orders of Admiral Willis Dagher."

"And by the command of King Victarion of the Iron Islands," Asha added.

Ser Daven looked confused. "You have a new king? I was informed that Balon was dead. Some kind of accident in a storm?"

"He is dead. My uncle Euron ruled briefly until he was overthrown after the Ferenese Navy arrived. Victarion Greyjoy now reigns in the Islands."

Ser Daven shook his head disapprovingly. He clearly knew that so long as the ironborn followed any king other than the Iron Throne's, they were still in open rebellion. Balon Greyjoy's death had done nothing to discourage the ironmen, much to Daven's displeasure. "I'll ask again: What are you doing in Lannisport?" Ser Daven's voice hinted at growing impatience.

Richard offered an honest -and blunt- answer. "Well Ser Daven, since you are so inquisitive... my orders are to prevent any of House Lannister's warships from putting to sea. If any one of your vessels attempts to leave the harbor, we shall attack."

"That is most unfortunate. I was ready to offer you and your crews immunity, even invite you to dinner in Casterly Rock."

"We appreciate the invitation Ser Daven," said Asha with a noticeably mocking tone. "But we didn't come for fine dining. Or courtesy, for that matter."

Ser Daven eyed both captains with cold stare. "You have until noontime to leave this harbor," he said sternly. "Or face the wrath of House Lannister." With that, Ser Daven ordered his boat back to the wharf. The oarsmen shoved their boat away from the Revenge, turned their craft around, and rowed for the wharf's safety, the crimson banner billowing behind them.

"Asha, notice where the sun is overhead," Richard said softly to hear, almost at a whisper. She did. It was past noontime. "Ser Daven has given us no time to depart. He intends to order the fleet against us immediately. I suggest you get back to your ship, ready your crew for battle."

Asha nodded in agreement, then kissed Richard on the cheek. "After this," she said in a whisper, we're sharing a bed." She saw Richard flash a smile before darting below, back aboard her beloved _Black Wind_.


	6. Richard

"Weigh anchor!" Richard Collins shouted once Asha had departed. "Set battle sails! Beat to quarters!"

Amidships, the marine bandsman sounded his drum rapidly. Men rushed about the decks, moving with purpose to their assigned stations. A team of sailors heaved around on the windlass, hauling the ponderous anchor off the bottom and into its cradle. Sails tumbled from aloft, their bindings loosened by men sent to set them. Down on the main deck and gun decks, the gunports were all latched open, and the cannons run out, loaded and ready to fire. Powder and armaments were carried up from below and distributed to the boarding party. The marines formed up on the main deck, loading their muskets. Within minutes the _Revenge_ was under way and ready for battle.

Richard took his usual place back aft on the quarterdeck beside the Officer of the Watch. Drawing his spyglass, the Ferenese captain focused his lens on the Lannister ships scrambling to get under way. Sailors and soldiers alike hurried across the decks to their stations. Sails were hauled aloft, catching wind and stretching their scarlet canvas as the morning breeze filled them. Mooring lines were being cast off left and right by frantic longshoremen, and oars were run out from the warships' hulls, looking remotely like branches on floating trees. Richard counted five Lannister ships under way, with more rapidly making for sea. He knew that the order to fire should be given immediately, but the dozens of merchant ships in the harbor posed a problem. The Denaryn (the Ferenese military's code of conduct) prohibited unprovoked attacks on civilians. Should the man of war open fire, there was no doubt that some of the merchant vessels would end up getting struck by cannon fire. Richard quickly decided that he needed to take the risk. Safeguarding his ship and crew took priority over defending civilians.

Richard stowed his spyglass. "Fire!" he barked.

The starboard guns belched smoke and let out a deafening roar as the powder within them exploded, sending their heavy projectiles hurtling at the hostile ships. A cloud of smoke briefly covered the _Revenge_'s hull in gray. Water splashed, wood splintered, sails tore and men screamed as the shots struck home. The foremost Lannister vessel, a longship, was hit directly at the waterline and began to founder, sinking by the bow. Four shots struck a war galley as she turned to port in order to avoid an anchored cog. Richard guessed that the galley's helmsman must have been killed, because she continued her turn and ended up ramming the sinking longship. Three more longships were hit as they attempted to clear the wharf, where the remaining Lannister warships readied for battle. A second war galley lost her mast to a particularly lucky cannon shot. Just as Richard had predicted, more than a few shots crashed into the hulls of neutral merchant ships. That displeased him, even though such a matter was beyond his control.

"Reload!" Richard shouted to his ship's company while sweeping smoke away from his eyes. "They're still coming for us, boys. Let them know our power!"

The gun crews on all three decks reloaded their weapons and began hauling them back into place. Richard knew that reloading dozens of guns was a slow process, but fortunately the wind was blowing in from the east. With that wind direction, the _Revenge_ could jibe through the wind, fire her port guns, jibe back through the wind, then fire her starboard guns again.

"Helmsman, hard to port."

"Aye aye, sir," said the man at the wheel.

The helmsman spun the wheel hard over to port. The rudder bit and sent the ponderous vessel into a turn. Amidships, the Sailing Master ordered the sails trimmed for the ship's new course on the wind's opposite side. Richard spotted the _Black Wind_ as the man of war jibed through the wind. The ironborn longship was staying out of the fight, at least for the time being. Asha wouldn't enjoy that, Richard knew, but she wasn't foolish enough to risk her ship and crew by going up against a far superior force, even with assistance from the _Revenge_. Richard and his crew needed to win this battle on their own (mostly).

The Revenge successfully jibed and soon her port side came to face the approaching Lannister squadron. Nearly the entire fleet had put to sea by then. Twenty-seven warships of House Lannister's private navy were rowing their way toward the lone Ferenese man of war, their rams aimed straight at her hull. The hostile ships' decks bristled with ballistas, men-at-arms, and archers, making for a formidable sight. The scenario reminded Richard of a pack of ravenous wolves moving in to kill a disabled stag. But the Lannister ships, Richard noticed with a touch of delight, were sailing in a tight formation, unwittingly making themselves an easier target for the Ferenese guns. It was time to break their resolve.

"Fire!" roared the Captain.

The port side guns roared to life, causing the ship to roll slightly to starboard as the cannons recoiled. Dozens of shots smashed into the hulls of the Lannister warships. The war galley nearest the _Revenge_ was hit by three cannonballs, which tore through her oar deck and killed nearly all of her rowers. Two longships began to founder, flooding from holes punched in their bows. Their crews frantically abandoned ship. Five war galleys near the squadron's front took direct hits to their main decks. The steel cannonballs and wooden shrapnel shredded men at their posts. The ships leading the squadron, now largely unmanned due to Ferenese cannon fire, began drifting. The wind caught the crippled ships' hulls and pushed them broadside, forming an obstacle to the ships following. Six more galleys, unable to turn in time, rammed the crippled warships.

The _Revenge_ turned back to starboard and fired again, sending fifty more shots careening through the air. More ships and their crews fell victim to cannonballs and the shrapnel they sent flying. The ships were now close enough that Richard could just barely hear the cries of the wounded. A nearby war galley somehow caught fire, possibly by some flammable substance that spilled during the fighting. To Richard, the Lannister fleet appeared broken and preparing to rout. Then he spotted the prestigious _Golden Lion_, intact and rowing at full speed straight at the _Revenge_'s starboard bow. The large war galley had separated from the main squadron and was clearly making an effort to flank the man of war. Ahead, the _Black Wind_ was rowing east to intercept the Lannister flagship. Richard knew that the _Golden Lion_ would be upon his ship before the guns were reloaded. He needed to order a different attack: boarding and capturing.

"Mr. Rawlins," said Richard to his First Lieutenant, "We need to board and neutralize that galley." The Captain pointed at the _Golden Lion_ off to starboard. "You'll take command of the ship when I go over with the boarding party. Is that clear?"

"Aye sir," said Rawlins with a nod.

"Good man."

Richard ordered the helmsman to turn the ship to starboard, pointing the _Revenge_'s own bow at the _Golden Lion_. The man of war's two bow chasers fired as the two ships charged each other, causing some damage to the galley's main deck. Richard watched intently as the hostile galley came nearer.

"Hard to port!" Richard shouted.

The man of war's bow swung to port at the last possible second, causing the _Golden Lion_'s steel ram to miss the ship entirely. Oars smashed all along the galley's starboard side as the _Revenge_ cruised past. Archers down on the galley loosed arrows up at the Ferenese crewmen. Most of their shots whistled harmlessly over the large ship's main deck. Marines aboard the Revenge returned fire, killing several Lannister oarsmen and six archers. On Richard's order, sailors on the Ferenese ship's main deck heaved grappling lines over the galley. The hooks bit deep into the galley's wooden hull as the sailors secured the two vessels together. A rope ladder was lowered over the man of war's starboard side.

Richard drew his smallsword. "Boarding party away!" he roared.

The boarding party of armed sailors and marines surged down onto the _Golden Lion_, where they were met with fierce resistance from the Lannister crewmen. Muskets fired, blades flashed and men roared with fury as a melee erupted. Richard himself climbed over the rail and jumped aboard the galley, using an archers' body as a landing pad. The young captain slew the man before entering the fray. A man-at-arms wielding a sword charged Richard, ready to strike. Richard skillfully blocked the blow, stunned the man with a punch, then stabbed him in middle.

Suddenly Richard found himself on the deck with his face to the sky. The man-at-arms who'd knocked Richard down stood over him, ready to end the officer's life with a strike from his mace. Richard drew his pistol. Just as he was about to kill his attacker, the man gargled, bleeding profusely from the neck. An ax was buried in his throat. Richard looked right, and noticed with joy that the axeman was Asha Greyjoy. The ironmen had joined the battle.

As the dying man-at-arms collapsed, Asha offered Richard her empty hand, then pulled the Feren to his feet.

"Glad you could join us," Richard said jokingly just before firing his pistol at a Lannister man-at-arms.

"Think nothing of it," was Asha's reply.

The two captains shared a brief kiss and then rushed to aid their crews. House Lannister would lose the fight this day.


	7. Gregor

Ser Gregor Clegane shifted in his saddle. It had been a long ride. He and his seventy bannermen were riding north from Harrenhal, making their way through the heart of the Riverlands on their way to Seagard. A fortnight ago, the Mountain and his men had crossed the Red Fork near Riverrun, circled around the headwaters of the Blue Fork, then commenced following the coast. Gregor was certain to allow his men time to rest, though Lord Tywin had ordered him to ride with haste to Seagard to "scout the situation." What was so damn important that required a near-forced ride from Harrenhal to the coast? The Mountain expected to find answers at Seagard. And if the castle's inhabitants didn't talk, Gregor would beat, rape, torture, and murder them until they did. In pain, everyone spoke sooner or later.

The Mountain's men were riding close to the western shore. Gregor felt the ocean breeze seeping in through his armor, causing goosebumps to form on his skin. He occasionally eyed the horizon, half-expecting to spot a ship. If a ship did appear, Gregor would lead his bannermen further inland, out of sight from the water. Given that Lord Tywin had mentioned an ironborn presence near Seagard, any ship was potentially an enemy. Gregor didn't care for ships himself. The pitching and rolling of the waves did nothing to suppress the nearly constant headaches that plagued him. For that reason, Gregor carried a wineskin filled with milk of the poppy whenever he traveled. Only during sleep and combat did the pain not bother him.

_By the Seven, I need to kill someone._ Gregor thought.

But there was no one around to kill. During their passage north, the Mountain's men had passed by numerous destroyed or deserted villages beside the roads and along the rivers. Some of them had been put to the torch by Ser Gregor and his men themselves. It would take years for the Riverlands to recover from the recent war, but Gregor didn't care. He just wanted to return to his home at Clegane's Keep. That, and fight. Fight a lot. Gregor would fight every single day if he could. Oh, how he relished combat.

Gregor spotted a lone rider trotting his way south. He was one of three outriders that the Mountain had sent ahead of the main war party. The rode his chestnut courser right up to The Mountain's own horse, a strong black destrier. Gregor raised his right arm, motioning for the column to halt as the rider approached.

"Ser Gregor," said the scout as he brought his horse to a halt. "Seagard is up ahead, beyond the next ridge. An army is camped there."

"An army, you say?" Gregor inquired. His coarse, gruff voice sounded like rock cracking. "How many troops?"

"Thousands, Ser. They have numerous tents set up around the town and castle. And ships too. Dozens of ships off the coast."

"Were they flying any banners?"

The scout cleared his throat. "I spotted the Greyjoy kraken, the Harlaw scythe and, strangely enough, the Stark direwolf."

Gregor was dumbfounded. How could the northmen and the ironborn be fighting together? Those two "kingdoms" were supposedly at war with each other. "I need to see this myself," he said. "Each lie your report contains will cost you one toe."

The scout cringed nervously. "Yes Ser. Like I said, the camp is just over the next ridge."

Gregor and squire rode forward with the scout. All three men dismounted before reaching the crest of the ridge in order to avoid detection. It was then that Ser Gregor Clegane laid eyes upon his enemy's campsite. It was a sight to inspire awe. The scout had been correct about there being thousands of tents in the camp. White canvas stretched for acres around the castle and town. Units of infantry and cavalry drilled in the fields near the camp, readying themselves for a coming battle. Blacksmiths hammered away at anvils while women washed clothes, tended to the horses, and prepared food. Gregor hadn't seen such an encampment since the days leading up to the Battle of the Green Fork, but military camps were familiar to him. They were among the few places he visited, other than his own castle.

The towering knight examined the camp more closely. There were banners flying from the quarters of ironborn lords. Some were familiar (like House Greyjoy), while others were unknown to him. One banner in particular caught his attention: A blue cross situated on a field of gold. It was insignia of the Ferenese Republic. Of the enemy. The direwolf of House Stark fluttered next to it. What for?

A booming noise sounded from the harbor. Gregor looked left to find its point of origin. Visible just to the west of Segard's keep was an enormous warship, roughly one-quarter the size of Gregor's home, Clegane's keep. But the ship wasn't alone. Thirteen more warships of the same or similar size were anchored in the bay, with more ships - likely unarmed merchantmen - anchored nearby. The Mountain guessed that the merchant ships were running supplies for the fleet and army on the coast. And while largely hidden from view, Ser Gregor knew that the Iron Fleet was beached up along the coast north of Seagard. The ironborn rarely traveled far from their ships, or so one of his bannermen had informed him.

"Quite a force they have gathered," said Gregor approvingly. "Let's wait until nightfall, then raid their camp." Gregor looked at his squire and the scout. "What say you?"

The two men nodded in agreement, not objecting for fear of provoking their master.

Gregor put on a smile that revealed his inner bloodlust. "Then it shall be done."

* * *

When the sun sank beneath the western horizon, Ser Gregor Clegane assembled the seventy cavalrymen under his command. The Mountain himself rode at the column's head, fully clad in plate armor over mail and boiled leather. In contrast to many wealthy knights, such as those who resided in the Reach, Ser Gregor's armor was a base, unimpressive suit, but the dense steel plates made up for in durability what they lacked in style. No other knight could even hope to don the Mountain's armor, let alone move in it. Ser Gregor held a sturdy greatsword in his right hand; six feet of sharpened, deadly steel. He raised this sword overhead, aimed its point at the hositle army's campsite, silently signalling his men to charge. The destrier beneath Gregor broke into a trot, and then a gallop. Hooves sounded like rumbling thunder on the turf as the column of cavalry surged forward.

In the campsite ahead, men sat around fires cooking, eating, drinking and gambling, all blissfully unaware of the wave of death hurtling towards their camp. Heads turned as the cavalry approached, then surprised turned to alarm as the Mountain's men rode in. Gregor, leading the charge, roared with battle fury as he beheaded an ironborn warrior with a single swing of his greatsword. He grabbed a burning log from a tall bonfire and hurled it into a nearby tent, setting the woolen canvas afire. An evening wind fanned the flames, causing the blaze to rapidly spread. Around Gregor the Mountain's men struck down any ironborn that tried to resist. One warrior collapsed with a spear in his back, while another bleed out after being struck in the chest by an axe. Surprised and unprepared, the panicked ironborn were no match for the mounted men-at-arms.

"Kill 'em, boys!" Gregor yelled. "A gold dragon to whoever kills the most!"

The slaughtering spree only lasted a minute longer. By that time, the ironborn further inside the camp had been alerted to the assault and were forming up into a shield wall. A spit of fire flashed on the hull of a nearby ship, followed almost instantly by a loud booming noise. A projectile whistled past the Mountain's horse and buried itself in the soil. Gregor knew it was time to call a retreat.

"Mountain's men!" Gregor roared through his helmet. "Fall back! We're done here!" The Mountain turned his horse and charged away from the camp at a full gallop. His men-at-arms followed suit, breaking off the attack and falling in behind their leader. Ser Gregor and his men escaped, leaving behind hundreds of burned tents and over one hundred dead or injured ironborn. It was a small victory; one that Ser Gregor hoped to turn into a larger one. He knew that another opportunity would soon present itself. This war had only just gotten started, after all.


	8. Willis II

Admiral Willis Dagher was not at all pleased. The surprise attack by the Mountain's Men had left much of the ironborn camp a smoldering ruin. Well over a hundred men had died in the raid, along with fifteen Ferenese soldiers, all of them caught drunk and off guard. Only the firing of the _Justice_'s starboard guns had prompted the hostile cavalry to retreat. Even now the stench of charred wool hung in the air. Wounded men cried in agony from the field hospital as maesters and surgeons attempted to save their lives. The whole affair was a perfectly avoidable disaster. It light of this unexpected assault, Willis had called an emergency meeting of the war council. The council was currently in the old Lord's office in Seagard castle, which had been converted into the Ferenese-ironborn base of operations. The castle itself was now garrisoned by a joint force of ironborn fighters with Ferenese infantry and artillery. Fortunately, no hostile force had threatened the castle, the town, the fleet, or the camp... until now.

A wide oaken table displaying a map of Westeros stood roughly in the room's center, illuminated by flickering candles in metal holders. King Victarion and ironborn Lords Harlaw and Drumm occupied one side of the table, with General Winston and Vice Admiral Baird on the side opposite. Admiral Dagher, commander of the Ferenese-ironborn host, stood at the table's head, where the unexplored Land of Always Winter disappeared off the edge of the world. Several figurines clustered around Seagard marked the locations of the Ferenese and ironborn fleets and armies. One ship-shaped figurine stood off on its own near Casterly Rock, marking the last known location of the man of war _Revenge_. Dagher hadn't received any news from the _Revenge_ since her departure from Pyke. Ancestors willing, Captain Collins and Asha Greyjoy were both alive and well.

Dagher added a new figurine to the map, one carved in the shape of a mounted knight. "Yesterday's attack," Willis said to the lords and officers, "was no mere raid by opportunistic sellswords or bandits. They were a disciplined force. Cavalry, no doubt." Dagher shifted his gaze to the ironborn lords. "Were any of your men able to identify them? Badges, markings, or banners?"

Victarion leaned forward slightly. "One of my captains recognized their badge. It was three hounds on a yellow field: House Clegane."

"I see," Dagher said with a nod. "And who are they?"

"Bannermen to Tywin Lannister. Their leader is Ser Gregor Clegane. He's a monstrously huge man. That's why they call him 'The Mountain That Rides.'"

"My king speaks the truth," Lord Harlaw added. "They say that Ser Gregor can swing a greatsword with one hand, cut a man in two with a single strike, and even snap bones with a simple flick of his wrist. One of my sons fought against the Mountain at a tourney, and nearly died from his wounds."

Dagher cleared his throat. "That's useful knowledge, gentlemen, but we still don't know where Ser Gregor and his men have disappeared to."

"I have riders scouring the countryside as we speak," Winston added. "If the Mountain and his men left any trace, my men will locate them."

Dagher nodded approvingly, then a knock sounded at the door. Vice Admiral Baird unlatched the door's handle and opened it slightly. A Ferenese guardsman armed with a musket stood in the corridor just beyond.

"Gentlemen," said the young guardsman, "Master Liam has returned. He says that he captured a highly valuable prisoner while en route from the Twins."

"Is Lieutenant Jones nearby?" Dagher asked, calling from across the room.

"Yes sir. He's here now with the prisoner."

"Send them both in, please."

The guardsman stepped aside to allow Liam and his captive to pass. Seconds later, two dirty, ragged, travel-weary men entered the chamber. On the right was spymaster Liam Jones, wearing a hooded black cloak with matching tunic, trousers and boots. A short sword hung at his side, and a length of rope in his hands bound his captive's wrists together. The prisoner was a tall man with pale skin, greying hair and mustache, and likely in his fifties, judging by the slight wrinkling in his facial features. A light tunic bearing the badge of a black trout adorned his chest, while dark trousers and boots covered his lower body. All of the stranger's clothing was filthy and stained from travel. It was likely that he'd been making his way through the Riverlands long before Liam captured him.

"Welcome back, Lieutenant," Dagher greeted the spy. Then he turned to the prisoner. "Who are you, stranger? And why has Mr. Jones brought you before us?"

The stranger, previously, slouching, straightened himself. The Admiral instantly spotted a warrior's posture. "My name is Ser Brynden Tully, brother of the late Lord Hoster Tully and uncle to Edmure Tully, the rightful Lord of Riverrun. Some know me as 'Blackfish.'"

There was silence for a moment. "Where did you find this knight, Mr. Jones?" Dagher asked. "On the side of the road?"

"In the woods east of here, sir. He was heading north."

"I see. And why, Ser Brynden, were you headed that way?"

The knight looked around uneasily, perhaps not certain if his present company could be trusted. "Because the Lannisters have captured Riverrun," he said at last. "I escaped by swimming through the water grates beneath the castle. Had I remained, I would be just another hostage by now."

"You say the Lannisters laid siege to Riverrun?" It was General Winston who asked. "How large was their host?"

Ser Brynden began to relax. "Not large. Four thousand men in total, with two thousand each from House Lannister and House Frey. Ser Jaime Lannister was commanding them. I had only two hundred men defending the castle with me. Edmure and I had no choice but to surrender Riverrun to the enemy."

"So you fled north. Where were you going?"

"To be honest, my lord, even I don't know for certain, but I planned on heading into the North. The Lannisters are loathed in the North, and I expected to find allies there among the noble houses, many of whom followed Robb Stark in his campaign against the Iron Throne. Your spy captured me before I could get past Seagard."

Dagher nodded. "Mr. Jones, release Ser Brynden."

Liam drew a knife and cut Brynden's bindings, letting the rope fall to the floor. The knight rubbed his wrists once he was free to move again.

The Admiral approached Brynden, halting less than an arm's length away from the Blackfish. "Ser Brynden Tully, you have seen the men gathered here..." Dagher gestured at the Ferenese officers, ironborn Lords and King Victarion. "...and you therefore know that we have a formidable force under our command. Here is what I can offer: we shall restore your family to Riverrun, but in exchange, we expect that you'll rally the Riverlords to our side." The Admiral extended his sword arm. "What say you?"

Brynden hesitated briefly, then grabbed Dagher's hand with a firm grip and shook it. "It shall be done, my lord."

"Outstanding. But please, you're welcome to call me 'Willis,' Brynden."

Dagher returned to the head of the table. "Gentlemen, it's for us time to march. Our priority is Riverrun." He looked at Winston, then to Baird. "General, ready six regiments of infantry, two cavalry regiments, and three field artillery units. Vice Admiral, ready the fleet. Have them ready to sail within a day's time."

"Aye aye, sir," the Ferenese officers said together.

"I'll ready the Iron Fleet," King Victarion added. "We'll raid the settlements and castles along the coast. With luck, the Lannisters will divert their attention to us instead of Riverrun."

"That is an excellent idea, your Grace," Dagher said approvingly. "Mr. Baird will see to it that several of our warships join you in that endeavor."

"Thank you, Admiral. But there is one more problem..."

"Yes? What is it?"

"Dagmer Cleftjaw. He and his crews never returned from Torrhen's Square after the order to withdraw was given."

The Admiral rubbed his chin, contemplating. "Perhaps we can use that to our advantage. I'll see to it that Torrhen's Square gets reinforced."

"Reinforced by who?"

"By your niece Asha, your Grace. And by Captain Richard Collins, one of my finest officers."


	9. Jaime

Ser Jaime Lannister, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, strolled leisurely along the ramparts of Riverrun's eastern wall, overlooking the Red Fork as the current gently carried the waters out towards the Narrow Sea. The sun rose ahead of the golden-haired knight, its bright rays shimmering against the river's surface, which was smooth as glass in the absence of wind. The footsteps of sentries on patrol could be heard in the courtyard below, and on the ramparts nearby, but it wasn't the activity within the castle that had the Lannister knight worried. Rather, it was the activity - or lack thereof - happening in the surrounding countryside. A raven from King's Landing and signed by Lord Tywin Lannister had reported a massive fleet mustering at Seagard to the north, one consisting of both ironborn and a navy from the far west. That raven had arrived two weeks ago, with no further news arriving from the Red Keep. Not three days past, a rider from the Mountain's Men returned from Seagard and reported an army numbering in the tens of thousands, supported by a fleet of well over a hundred warships, along with dozens of unarmed merchant vessels. Ser Gregor and his remaining men had not returned to Riverrun since riding from Harrenhal on their way to Seagard. That pleased Jaime. The Mountain and his bannermen, though indeed skilled combatants, were not pleasant company.

A gentle breeze swept through the air, rustling Jaime's pristine white cloak. The white cloak and unadorned white armor marked Ser Jaime as a member of the Kingsguard, the sworn protectors of the monarch on the Iron Throne. Jaime was the only member of the seven-man Kingsguard present at Riverrun; the rest currently resided at the Red Keep, watching over King Tommen and his household. No doubt Cersei was already trying to bend the other six members to her will. That woman's love of her children exceeded mere obsession.

A sentry on the triangular castle's western wall sounded a long blast from his horn, signaling that riders were approaching the main gate. Jaime hurried to the western wall, his cloak billowing behind him. He found himself standing on the ramparts above the gate before long. Seventy armored cavalry riders were making their way up the road towards the castle. Leading them was an enormously tall knight who Jaime immediately recognized as Ser Gregor Clegane. Just behind Ser Gregor rode a squire carrying a banner that displayed three black hounds on a field of yellow: the infamous badge of House Clegane.

The Mountain and his men stopped just short of the main gate, which remained closed. Jaime shouted for the gate to be opened. Seconds later, four Lannister men-at-arms heaved around on a broad crank, which drove a basic pulley system, slowing drawing the heavy wooden gate open. With the thudding of hooves and the churning of mud the Mountain's Men rode into the courtyard, which was already crowded with tents. With two thousand Frey bannermen and just as many Lannister soldiers camped in and around the castle, the barracks could not hold them all. The larders within the castle were beginning to empty out as well. It was clear to Jaime that he would need to move his army again soon. Armies march on their stomach, and Riverrun was nearly out of food.

"What news do you bring, Ser Gregor?" Jaime asked as he approached the Mountain's horse. Ser Gregor had halted his destrier near the keep's main entrance.

Ser Gregor removed his visor, exposing his pale, bearded face. "Ill news, I'm afraid. There's a damn army camped at Seaguard. A fleet's anchored nearby too."

"An army and a fleet?" Jaime asked, surprised. "How many men? Ships?"

"Thousands of men. Ironborn and... what was it your father called them? 'Ferens?' Lots of them too. Well over a dozen ships in their fleet as well. Some half the length of that..." Gregor pointed a gauntlet at the perimeter wall. "...with hulls just as tall."

Jaime swallowed, unnerved by this news. "Is that all?"

"It gets worse, my Lord. The lads have me told that they're marching south, in this direction. They're about a week away. The bastards."

The Kingsguard knight nodded. "Thank you, Ser Gregor. You and your men get some rest. We'll be in a state of siege soon."

The Mountain nodded and spurned his horse in the direction of the stables.

Before retiring to dinner, Jaime spared with the mute Ser Illyn Payne. The Kingsguard knight had lost his sword hand to a sellsword months ago. Now lacking his dominant right hand, Jaime had no choice but to build up the strength in his left arm, converting it into his sword hand. Progress, unfortunately, was painfully slow. The sword still felt awkward in his left hand, allowing Ser Illyn to easily best him... again and again. After an hour of practice, Jaime bade Ser Illyn goodnight and returned to the castle for his evening meal of finely seasoned steak and steamed vegetables. He then ascended to his chambers, removed his armor, climbed into a comfortable bed, and fell into a deep sleep, dreaming passionately of Cersei.

The following morning, the low, long blast of a sentry's horn awoke the Kingsguard Lord Commander.


	10. Victarion II

Twelve thousand Ferenese soldiers marched south across the open fields that bordered the Red Fork, with two thousand ironborn raiders marching alongside them. Outriders, lightly armored and armed with sabers and carbines, rode ahead of the main column, scouting for any sign of the enemy. Leading the column was the 9th Cavalry Regiment, a detachment of Ferenese heavy cavalry. The two thousand cavalrymen, mounted atop powerful chargers, were each armed with a lance, carbine, and a long, heavy sword, while their bodies were covered in steel plate armor, with the blue Republic Cross painted on their polished breastplates. Behind the 9th Cavalry marched the 7th Infantry Regiment, also outfitted with plate armor, but the dismounted soldiers carried muskets with detachable bayonets instead of swords. These two regiments, consisting of two thousand men each, were the Republic's heavy shock force, able to challenge any foe that dared to impede the army's progress. Together the heavy cavalry and infantry would form the vanguard when the army entered battle.

Behind the heavy infantry marched the 12th, 20th, and 5th Infantry Regiments. Though not as heavily armored as their heavy infantry counterparts (leather armor with steel inlays instead of plate), each man carried a musket and sword-bayonet as his primary weapon. The soldiers all wore tricorner hats, and blue tunics underneath their armor, making them appear similar in most respects to the Ferenese Marine Corps. Only the armor set them apart - marines never wore armor of any kind when at sea.

The 2nd and 8th Artillery Regiments followed the infantry. Each regiment contained fourteen field guns, making for twenty-eight in all. Dozens of sturdy draft horses tugged ponderous cannons and loaded caissons behind them, while the artillerymen marched alongside their horses. A team of two horses each pulled one cannon and its adjoining caisson together, with one man - usually the artillery detail's lowest-ranked man - leading each team onwards. One squad of five men worked each individual cannon. Unlike the infantry or cavalry, the artillerymen wore no armor, clad instead in blue uniforms similar to the marines.

The final Ferenese unit in the column was the 50th Light Cavalry Regiment. The riders in the light cavalry were armored the same as their light infantry counterparts, but carried different weapons. Each cavalryman had a straight, sturdy sword hanging at his side, and a carbine slung on his saddle. Though normally outfitted with sabers, General Winston had ordered the light cavalry re-equipped with straight swords, knowing that the curved blades would do little against armored Westerosi soldiers. It was with this unit that Admiral Dagher, Ser Brynden Tully, and General Winston now rode.

King Victarion followed behind the Ferenese army, riding at the head of the the ironborn raiders. Victarion wore his entire suit of plate armor, ready for battle at a minute's notice. Lord Drumm accompanied the king. When the sun reached about noontime in the partly overcast sky, a Ferenese outrider approached Victarion.

The young cavalryman saluted. "Your grace," said the rider, "your presence has been requested by Admiral Dagher."

Victarion grunted, ignoring the soldier, and dug his spurs into his horse's flanks, riding to the Ferenese Admiral's side, where he slowed his mount.

The Admiral was mounted atop a white stallion, with his smallsword of Valyrian steel hanging from his left hip, and a pistol holstered beside it. Despite the long, brutal march from Seagard, Willis' uniform appeared stainless and his face clear of filth, as if he had stepped from his cabin just moments ago. This behavior triggered contempt from the ironborn ruler. Only the wealthiest of nobility - the people that Victarion despised - were able to pamper themselves in a similar manner. Even so, man didn't need to have dust and grime on his clothes and body in order to be fierce or stalwart; Victarion had learned that harsh lesson from Willis Dagher atop Botley's Keep.

_The first man to best me in ten years, and now I follow his lead._ Victarion thought grudgingly.

"Good morning, your grace," said Willis, sounding cheerful. "Are you well?"

"I'll be better once we're safe inside Riverrun," Victarion replied with a grumble.

"Agreed. Fortunately, Ser Brynden has informed me that Riverrun is not far from our current position. No doubt we shall reach the castle before sunset."

Just then, a rider came galloping from the column's head. He turned his horse and came alongside the Admiral, saluted, and delivered a verbal report. A single gold stripe adorned his upper sleeve, marking him as a Private.

"Sir," said the rider, "Riverrun is within sight. No sign of enemy forces outside the walls."

Dagher returned the salute. "Thank you, Private. Please return to your post."

The rider spurred his horse and galloped out of sight to the head of the column.

Dagher turned his head to face General Winston. "General," he said plainly, "you have tactical command."

Winston nodded. "Thank you, Admiral. Now let's go and have a look at this castle by the river."

* * *

The four commanders of the joint army - Dagher, Winston, Greyjoy, and Tully - stood on a low hill one mile from Riverrun's north side, mounted on horseback, with a guard of twenty Ferenese light cavalry at their backs. Admiral Dagher had his spyglass raised, focusing on the castle's ramparts, looking for any signs of sentries. Three banners flew from the walls, all of which Victarion recognized immediately.

"That's the lion of Lannister there on the north tower," the ironborn king said. "See that yellow one? That's House Clegane, the Mountain's banner."

"And the grey standard is House Frey," Ser Tully added with contempt. "The same house that betrayed my family and seized Riverrun from us. The Others take them."

"How many men can the castle hold?" Dagher asked of Brynden.

"Four thousand at peak capacity, but with that many people inside, their supplies won't last for more than two months."

"We could starve them out," the Admiral suggested as he stowed the spyglass. "The garrison will surrender if they can't eat."

"I don't think we have that kind of time, Willis," Winston stated. "Tywin Lannister could very well have forces marching West to intercept us. Not to mention, we need to reunite with the fleet as soon as we can."

Dagher nodded in agreement.

Ser Brynden cleared his throat, then spoke. "There is another option, my lords. I escaped Riverrun by swimming through the grates that run under the walls. If we can get a small team of men through those grates, it may be possible to open the gates and drawbridge from within, allowing our forces a clear path into the castle."

A smile briefly flashed across the General's hardened face. "That's the best plan we have. Victarion, find six of your strongest swimmers and have them report to Ser Brynden. He will lead the strike team into the castle. With luck, Riverrun will be ours before those Andal dogs have any idea that something is amiss."


	11. Richard II

Under an overcast sky, the man of war _Revenge_ quietly made her way up the river, following in the wake of Asha Greyjoy's longship _Black Wind_. Captain Richard Collins stood on the quarterdeck, wearing a heavy black over his uniform, silently taking in the scenery surrounding his vessel. The wind blew gently and the river's waters shone grey, reflecting the clouds overhead. A layer of snow covered the riverbanks, where it concealed the ground and gave the woodlands a lovely, but somewhat haunting, appearance. The forest was occasionally interrupted by open fields or hills, and more than once the ships had passed seemingly deserted villages. Some of the empty wooden structures were charred, blackened from fire damage, and others leveled entirely; a certain sign of ironborn raiding.

Up ahead, the river widened into a deep, expansive lake. Richard soon lost sight of both shores as the _Revenge_ and _Black Wind_ continued to sail northward. A gust of chilled wind suddenly whipped across the quarterdeck, causing the young captain to shiver beneath his woolen cloak. As expected, the temperature had fallen as the two vessels cruised further into the North, prompting Richard to order winter clothing issued to every man aboard. Any sailor or marine up on deck now wore a plain cloak over woolen pants and jackets. The captain had also been forced to forbid his crew from walking barefoot outside, as sailors often did. Anyone doing so risked frostbite, and with the ship's distance from the main fleet, Richard could not afford to risk avoidable casualties. One sailor had refused to obey, and ended up with frostbitten toes. Richard assigned the man to cleaning the bilge in response.

Feeling drowsiness set in, the young Captain retired to his cabin. A knock at the door awoke him the following morning.

"Come in," Richard said in a voice groggy with sleep.

The door opened slightly, and a Midshipman poked his head in. "Sir, the _Black Wind_ has hove-to. Their Captain is coming aboard."

Richard rubbed his eyes, wondering. What could Asha want with him at this early hour? "Thank you. Return to your station, lad."

Captain Collins reluctantly climbed out of bed and pulled on his boots and uniform, buckled on his sword belt and pistol holster, then donned his cloak. He removed his tricorner hat from its hook before passing through the door, then up a ladder, and out into the chill morning weather. Snow was falling in flurries from an overcast sky, propelled through the crisp air by a gentle, almost caressing wing from the east. The lake's northeastern shore was visible off the starboard bow, the low, white shore rising above the silver waters. The land was mostly open, hilly fields, dotted by the occasional copse of trees here and there. The stone walls of a castle poked up from one of the larger hills.

_That must be Torrhen's Square_, Richard thought. _The ancestral seat of House Tallhart, if I remember_. Admiral Dagher had ordered him and Asha to sail here, but exactly why was less than clear. The Ferenese Captain understood that a band of ironborn raiders were in control of the castle, but they had refused to leave when their king summoned them home. What kept them here? A hidden secret? Plain and simple stubbornness? Too many questions, not enough answers.

The _Black Wind_ had her sail furled and was rafting alongside the _Revenge_, her own starboard side resting against the man of war's port. A pale-skinned face with a head of black hair poked over the port rail, followed by the rest of Asha Greyjoy as she ascended the midship ladder and swung herself onto the larger ship's main deck. Asha wore a tunic the color of fog beneath her leather armor, over which she wore a cloak made from animal pelts. Her war axe hung from a belt loop at her right hip. Of the hidden dagger she usually carried between her breasts, Richard saw no trace, but did not doubt its presence.

"Good morning, Asha," Richard greeted with a smile and a mock bow. "It's a pleasure to have you aboard. What brings you aboard the _Revenge_?"

"Torrhen's Square is just ahead, Captain Collins," Asha said in a serious tone, ignoring Richard's attempt at humor. "Dagmar Cleftjaw and his crews hold the castle."

"Then we had best make ourselves known to them. I advise that you ready the _Black Wind_ for an approach to shore."

"We're always ready to go. Are you?"

Richard evaded Asha's mocking question and looked towards Lieutenant Fredrick Jacobs, the officer in charge of the ship's marine detachment, standing near the quarterdeck. Jacobs was a middle-aged man in his late forties with graying brown hair and fair skin. He was also a seasoned veteran of the Ferenese Marine Corps, having served since he enlisted at age nineteen. "Lieutenant," The Captain called, "ready a platoon of your marines. They will accompany us ashore, with you in command."

Lieutenant Jacobs saluted and silently disappeared below decks. He returned a short time later with sixteen of his marines in tow. On their commander's orders the marines in their pristine blue uniforms formed ranks amidships, muskets shouldered, waiting to board the longship. After Asha Greyjoy returned to her own vessel, Richard motioned Jacobs and his marines down the midship ladder and, following that ancient navy custom, was the last to disembark from his own ship, leaving his First Lieutenant in command.

The _Black Wind_, making way by her one sail, silently steered northward to the snowy coast. Not a word was spoken by anyone aboard. Richard began to feel unnerved by the silence, but did not break it; instead he made do by observing Torrhen's Square. The castle's granite, fifty-foot outer wall was, fittingly, in the shape of a square, with a tower at each corner and ramparts along the tops of the walls. A central keep, also with four towers, occupied the space within the curtain wall. The fortress overall appeared stout and sturdy; a castle that could easily be defended against a superior force. According to the field reports that Richard read, the castle was captured by the ironborn under Cleftjaw, retaken by Tallhart men, then seized once again by the ironborn. _Who holds the castle now? _Richard thought, nearly out loud.

The longship grounded in the shallows near the shore with a gentle bump. Richard disembarked first, climbing deftly over the rail and letting his boots splash in the chilled water. Jacobs and the marines followed behind him, coming ashore one man behind the other. Richard beckoned them away from the ship and onto the snows, allowing the _Black Wind_'s ironborn raiders to disembark as well. A skeleton crew was left aboard to safeguard the ship. With her ironmen safely ashore, Asha Greyjoy was the last to depart her vessel.

Asha walked up beside Richard, who had just issued an order to Jacobs. The marines began forming up into a platoon nearby. Other than the Ferenese officers, no man uttered a single word.

"It's awfully quiet," the female captain said about the situation.

"Aye," said Richard in agreement, while looking up at the vacant ramparts. "What do you suppose is going on in there? Is the whole garrison asleep?"

"I don't know. I'll send a man to-"

Richard raised a hand, silencing her. "Listen," he whispered.

That's when Asha heard what Richard had. The distant clanging of steel striking steel. The cries of wounded men and dying men. The long, low blast of a warhorn. "A fight," Asha said as she unslung her war axe. "It must be to the north, behind the castle."

Richard nodded in agreement. "Aye." The Ferenese Captain drew his smallsword. "Marines! Ready yourselves! There's a battle up ahead."

"You heard the Captain!" Jacobs barked while unsheathing his cutlass. "Load your weapons and form up!"

The marines all unshouldered their muskets and loaded a shot, then closed ranks into a tight formation. Asha rejoined her ironborn fighters, ordering them to prepare for combat as well. The ironmen hefted their weapons and gathered into a loose formation. Unlike the Ferenese marines, the ironborn were raiders, not trained soldiers, and therefore seldom fought in ranks unless pressed to do so by a commander.

Richard and Jacobs fell in behind the marines. "Forward, march!" Jacobs ordered. With that, the marines began marching around the castle's western wall. Asha led her ironborn crew around the eastern wall in an effort to flank the enemy. It wasn't long before both groups reached the scene of the skirmish. The castle was indeed under attack. A force of approximately one hundred men-at-arms were assaulting the main gate while the ironborn defenders rained arrows, rocks and other debris on the attackers. Several men were attempting to scale the walls with ladders.

Jacobs halted the marines roughly sixty paces away from the attacker's right flank. "Ready arms!" he barked. The marines unshouldered their weapons and took aim at the enemy. "Fire!" Sixteen musket balls took flight, tearing through armor and flesh as they struck home. Men screamed and groaned as they fell. As the marines began to reload, a large group of men-at-arms broke from the main force and charged at the Ferens. More than one man-at-arms had a badge of a flayed man painted on his shield, marking them as men sworn to House Bolton.

_The most hated house in the North_, thought Richard._ And with good reason_. _Let's see if they're as skilled at combat as they are at betrayal_.

The marines fired again, this time at the charging men-at-arms. A cloud of smoke briefly obscured the fight from view, then dissipated to reveal the Bolton bannermen still running towards the Ferens. Richard drew a pistol and raised his smallsword, anticipating the imminent melee.

"Fix bayonets!" Jacobs roared.

The Bolton men-at-arms struck home a second after the marines had fixed bayonets and extended their weapons outward. The effect was akin to charging straight into a wall of spears. Just as Richard expected, a melee broke out between the men-at-arms and the marines, with the former trying to separate the latter's ranks, making them easier opponents. Even with the Bolton bannermen's steel raining down on them, the marines held their ground, closing ranks each time one of their own fell. Though they were putting up a tremendous fight, Richard sensed that the marines would end up being overwhelmed.

The Ferenese Captain stepped out from behind the formation and raised his pistol at an sword-wielding northerner. The two men locked eyes for a fleeting instant. A shot rang out. Down went the northerner, bleeding from a third eye in his forehead. A roaring poleaxe-toting man rushed Richard, who dropped his pistol and deftly blocked his attacker's weapon as it came swinging downwards, sending the long-handled weapon into the snow. Richard stabbed the man in the throat before he could recover for a second attack.

The gold kraken banner of House Greyjoy rounded the castle's eastern wall, held aloft by a burly ironborn raider. Ahead of the standard bearer ran Asha Greyjoy, war axe drawn and screaming like a banshee. The _Black Wind_'s crew smashed into the Bolton forces' left flank, breaking their assault on the castle's main gate. Hemmed in between the Ferens, the ironborn, and the north wall of Torrhen's Square, the Bolton men had only one direction left to go: backwards. A horn sounded, and the surviving Bolton bannermen retreated, dragging their wounded behind them. Ironborn and Ferens alike cheered and jeered as the northerners quit the field.


	12. Tywin II

The Riverlands were in ruins. Every village that the army passed by on their march west was burned down, deserted, or otherwise no longer habitable. Fields once bristling with crops now stood empty and barren. All too many such fields were blackened by old fires, and some were salted, never to be tilled again. Even some keeps and castles were empty, the houses that once occupied them having fled from the fighting. Decaying corpses were often seen along the side of the road, being feasted on by crows, ravens, and other vermin. More than one corpse was wearing Lannister livery, and some wore the colors of House Frey. The number of suspended bodies increased as the army marched westward. Rumors lingered amongst the troops of an outlaw band that hunted for Lannister and Frey bannermen, lynching them at every opportunity. To Lord Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King to Tommen Baratheon, the corpses were proof enough to confirm the existence of the Brotherhood Without Banners. Bothersome though they were, the outlaws would need to be hunted down at a later time. A much larger threat endangered the Riverlands, if not the whole south of Westeros: the Ferenese Republic and their ironborn allies.

Lord Tywin - or rather, King Tommen - commanded an army of thirty thousand men. The large host consisted of men sworn to Houses Lannister, Tyrell, and over a dozen lesser houses swearing fealty to the Iron Throne. Most of the Lannister forces were veterans, having seen fighting in the Riverlands during the campaign against the rebel King Robb Stark and his host of northmen. Tywin made sure that the best combatants available to the king joined this host. When going up against an unknown enemy, it was best to bring allies who had defeated different kinds of foes. No army in Westeros had yet faced the Ferenese military and emerged victorious. The ironborn had thrown themselves at the Ferenese and paid dearly for their mistake. The Iron Throne could not afford defeat. If the Lannister-Tyrell host failed, houses once sworn to Robb Stark might declare for the Ferens, prolonging the war for months, or - more likely - years.

Tywin walked through the camp beside his grandson. Together they paused on a hilltop forty meters from the western edge of the tent rows, just beyond which ran the River Road. Both the King and the Hand were clad in simple tunics and breeches that displayed the royal sigil of a golden lion and crowned stag, combatant. Two armed and armored Kingsguard knights followed close behind, along with the King's mother, Cersei. Tywin was loath to bring his only daughter on campaign, but leaving her in charge of governing King's Landing would have pushed the city further toward ruin. To prevent such catastrophe, the aging Lannister lord had seen no other choice to remove Cersei from the city, and put his youngest son Tyrion in charge of managing the city. That decision had bothered him even more strongly than potentially putting Cersei in danger. Though perhaps worst of all was his daughter's detrimental influence on the boy Tommen. Were it Cersei's choice, Tommen would never set foot anywhere close to a battlefield, even if the entire continent was at risk. Tywin would have sent the woman straight to Casterly Rock... if the Ferenese army wasn't in the way.

"Grandfather," said Tommen, "how much longer until we face the invaders?" Despite holding the highest office in Westeros, the ten year-old Tommen still retained a touch of his childhood innocence. He had even brought one of his favorite cats on campaign with him. The boy would need to be reminded that pets are a frivolous distraction, no different than drinking or whoring. But if the cat's presence kept the boy king's morale up, Tywin would tolerate the beast.

"Soon," was Tywin's answer for his grandson. "A wise king never rushes into battle, your grace, but nor should he wait for his enemies to come to him. Through careful planning and forethought, a battle can be won before it even begins."

"Mother says that father always went straight to the fighting."

Tywin sighed. During his lifetime, Robert Baratheon commanded his troops from the front lines, moving himself to where the fighting was thickest whenever possible. Only sheer luck and skill with melee combat had kept him alive through such foolishness. Had Tywin ever attempted to do the same, he would be long dead. And should Tommen lead his army from the front, the Ferens would target him immediately. The boy king would die a soldier's death, and the invaders would gain an easy victory. "King Robert was an excellent warrior, your Grace. There is no denying that. But do you remember what I taught you back in King's Landing? A king's most important attribute is his _wisdom_, not his strength. After all, it was Eddard Stark who planned Robert's battles during the Rebellion. Eddard planned, while Robert fought."

"So will you plan the battle while I fight in it?"

Tywin felt the urge to put a his palm up to his face. Somehow he managed to resist. Seven hells, the boy can be so dense at times, he thought. He was still an improvement over the last two Baratheon kings, at the very least.

As they talked, Tywin noticed a column of armored riders making their way swiftly up the River Road. The distinct thudding of horse hooves reached his ears moments later. The lead rider was carrying a yellow banner displaying three black hound's, marking the riders as the Mountain's men. What were they doing so far from Seagard? Had Clegane decided against obeying his liege lord's orders? If so, then it was the gallows for him.

The riders slowed their mounts to a walk as they neared the camp, and halted next to the King. Ser Gregor Clegane himself was in the lead, mounted on a powerful black war horse. Beside him a grizzled unwashed fighter held aloft the Clegane banner. And next to him was Jaime Lannister, Tywin's eldest son, in the white armor of the Kingsguard. Clegane, clad in his full plate armor and wearing a greatsword slung across his back, dismounted and landed heavily on the soil. The massive knight removed his helmet and offered a bow to King Tommen.

"Your grace, my lord, my lady," he said, acknowledging the three nobles, "the situation at Riverrun has gone to complete shit."

"Watch your tongue, Clegane," Tywin sneered. "You are in the presence of your king."

Jaime moved his horse over to the trio. "What Ser Gregor means to say his that we have lost the castle."

"A fine job indeed, brother," spat Cersei. Jaime shot her a hateful look in response.

Tywin froze for a second before recovering himself. He shook his head in frustration. "We shall discuss this in private. Clegane, get you men settled in, then meet us at the King's tent. Jaime, dismount your horse and walk with us. I'm sure that you have much to say to your nephew and I."

* * *

Tommen, Tywin, Jaime and Gregor all sat around a table in the King's tent. Servingmen and women offered food and wine to the four men, who ate their meal in silence... mostly. At one point Gregor threw his goblet of wine aside, striking a serving girl in the head with it, and shouted for milk of the poppy, complaining of a severe headache. A maester arrived hurriedly with a wineskin full of the stuff, which Gregor emptied in a single breath. After that, he was silent, for which Tywin was thankful. One more outburst like that and Tywin would dismiss him from the tent. Following the meal, it was Jaime who first broke the stillness.

"They came in through the water grates under the castle," Jaime said plainly, setting down his goblet.

"Who did, Uncle?" Tommen asked.

"The bloody Blackfish," Gregor barked in his gruff voice. The man spoke in a tone that sounded like stone breaking. "He and some ironborn swam under the walls during the night. Silt the guards' throats. Then they opened the main gates. Stormed right in on us."

"I was woken up by the sounds of fighting," Jaime added. "As was Ser Gregor."

"What did the enemy's force consist of?" It was Tywin who asked.

"Infantry and lots of 'em," Gregor replied with a growl. "Ironborn raiders and Ferenese heavy infantry. Seven hells, but they filled up the courtyard right quick. They were breaking into the keep by the time I got my leather armor on and sword unsheathed."

"They broke into the barracks first," Jaime added. "Killed any men still asleep until someone managed to sound the alarm. Several Ferenese soldiers discharged their... fire-spears, for lack of a better word... which alerted the rest of the garrison."

Tywin took a sip of wine. "Did you make any effort to counter their attack?"

Gregor slapped his palm on the table, causing it to shudder. "By the Seven we did! I led a hundred men out into the courtyard to try and force 'em back through the main gate. I must've cut down at least two dozen of the sods. My blade was red from point to hilt. It all went sideways when those Ferenese dogs managed to flank us. They came around our left side and shot their fire-spears at us. Killed over a dozen of my men with a single volley, then even more with a second. Then those at the front managed to break our line. One of 'em aimed his fire-spear at me and put a shot in my hip." Gregor put a hand to his side, marking the site of his wound. "I went to my knees, tried to get back up, then another Feren put his blade to my throat. It was all over for me, then."

"Was that the end of the fight?" Tommen asked, rejoining the conversation. That pleased Tywin. The boy just might be starting to think as a king should.

"Far from it, your grace," said Jaime, after swallowing a bite from a bread roll. "With the courtyard fallen, I saw to the defense of the keep. I ordered the men-at-arms to form a shield wall across the entrance hall, about twenty paces from the door, and positioned archers on the gallery overhead. Sure enough, the Ferens stormed into the hall. But instead of charging the shield wall as the ironborn would have done, the Ferens formed line and started shooting their fire-spears. Then they threw smoking balls into our ranks that exploded like barrels of wildfire. The archers weren't enough to faze the Ferenese troops. The shield wall began to weaken after a few minutes. Once it did, the Ferens opened a lane in the center of their ranks, allowing the ironborn to charge in and crumple the shield wall. A melee ensued and I gave the order to retreat to the upper levels."

"There's no happy ending to this story," Gregor said with a sound of warning in his voice. This earned him a disgusted look from Tywin.

"I'm afraid Ser Gregor is correct," Jaime continued. "Upon retreating to the upper levels, we found only more ironborn and Ferenese infantry waiting to greet us. they must have scaled the walls while we were occupied in the main hall, cutting off access to the rest of the keep. We were trapped like horses in a stable. In the midst of the fighting, I came face to face with the Blackfish. I knew right then that the battle was lost. With no other choice, I surrendered the castle."

Tywin downed the last of his wine. "To whom did you surrender Riverrun, Jaime?"

"To Admiral Willis Dagher, the commander of the Ferenese army in Westeros. Brynden Tully and Victarion Greyjoy were also present when I turned the castle over to him. The Admiral gave our host until sunset the following day to evacuate. Ser Gregor, myself, and some of our men-at-arms rode ahead of the men on foot. They should be arriving here within one day's time. We left one thousand of our own dead back at Riverrun."

"What of the Ferens and the ironborn? Were they still at Riverrun when you rode out?"

"Yes, they were still in the damn fortress," Gregor growled. "And I doubt they've moved."

Tywin nodded, ignoring Ser Gregor's sudden outburst. He turned to look at King Tommen, who was toying with his fork. "Your grace," Tywin said, getting the boy's attention.

Tommen put the fork back down on the table and sat up straight. "Yes grandfather?"

"It is time for you to make a king's choice. Riverrun has been captured by a foreign army. One thousand men of Westeros are dead. Do you still wish to seek peace, or shall we go to war?"

Tommen was silent for a moment. "We go to war."

Ser Gregor roared in approval. Jaime let out a sigh. Inwardly, Tywin Lannister cracked a smile.


	13. Willis III

Admiral Willis Dagher rose with the sun. He had refused to take quarters within Riverrun's great keep, opting instead for his tent down in the Ferenese camp. The ironborn had set up a camp of their own less than a league from the castle. Both armies had stationed men inside Riverrun as well, with raiders and soldiers alike keeping watch along the walls.

After dressing and buckling on his sword belt, the Admiral pushed aside the tent flap strode outside. The soldier standing watch outside the tent saluted him. Willis returned the salute but did not offer a greeting. Breaking his fast took precedence over courtesy in the early morning hours. The Ferenese camp was a sprawling network of tents aligned in neat, orderly rows where the soldiers slept, and haphazardly where the camp followers had pitched their shelters. Banners stood proudly upright next to the larger tents, marking a regiment commander's quarters. Rectangular, open spaces for cookfire pits were arranged at regular intervals amongst the soldier's tents. Most of those cookfires, surrounded by small clusters of soldiers, were now lit, with men cooking slices of salted meat on spits over the flames. Dagher's stomach growled when his nose caught a whiff of roasted beef. An even finer meal than the soldiers' morning fare awaited him at the officer's mess.

A long white tent with an adjoining kitchen housed the dining area for the Ferenese officers. Hundreds of men were already seated at the dozens of tables and chairs housed beneath the canvas. At the far end near the kitchen stood a line of officers waiting to receive their morning meals from the cooks. Both the men in line and at the tables were arranged by seniority. Dagher's rank of Admiral permitted him to skip the line and receive his meal first, which he did. Walking away from the line, a plate of food in hand, Dagher took a seat at a table shared by General Robert Winston and - to his mild surprise - Ser Brynden Tully and King Victarion Greyjoy. Their table, reserved for senior-most officers only, stood apart from the others, making it ideal for having a private conversation.

"Good morning, gentlemen," Dagher said. "A fine morning, is it not?"

Winston nodded. "It is indeed, Admiral. We were just discussing the future of Riverrun."

"Oh? Have you reached any conclusions?"

"As a matter of fact, we have," Ser Brynden said, cutting into a slice of steak. "After the Red Wedding, Riverrun was granted by the Iron Throne to Emmon Frey. The castle is still legally his, even though Ferenese soldiers, ironborn raiders and Stark loyalists now occupy it."

"So only the King can return Riverrun to House Tully?"

"Correct, Admiral."

"I still say that House Greyjoy should get Riverrun," Victarion said with a growl.

Dagher fixed a cold gaze on the ironborn ruler. "That's off the table, your Grace. Riverrun belongs to House Tully, and we shall see it returned to them."

Victarion growled again, crossing his arms beneath his chest, but stayed silent.

"Meeting in my tent after this meal," Dagher commanded. "Just the four of us. We need to discuss our next move."

The four men broke their fast in silence.

* * *

Four armed guards were posted outside of the Admiral's tent. No one could be allowed to overhear the coming discussion. Inside, the four commanders - Dagher, Tully, Winston, and Greyjoy - all stood around a square table on which lay an unrolled map of Westeros. As usual, several figurines marked the positions of various armies and fleets around the kingdom. Two such figurines - shaped like a longship and a cross, respectively - stood over Riverrun, while others marked the Ferenese fleet at Seagard, Dagmar Cleftjaw's last known position at Torrhen's Square, and ironborn squadrons still in the islands. A figurine carved in the shape of a lion's head stood east of Riverrun along the river road, marking the army of House Lannister.

"Thank you for coming, gentlemen," Dagher began, looking at the three other men in turn. "The situation is... interesting." The Admiral turned his gaze down to the map. "As you may know, the scouts have informed me that a Lannister army is marching west along the river road." He pointed to the lionhead figurine. "They are thirty thousand strong, and are less than a weeks' ride from Riverrun. Tywin Lannister is in command. I have no doubt that they intend to do battle with us here."

"Do we fight?" Winston asked.

"No. Instead we bloody them as much as we can, then retreat back north to Seagard."

"_What_?" King Greyjoy demanded to know, his temper flaring and face turning red. "That's just plain cowardice. We can beat them!"

"Perhaps, your Grace," Dagher continued calmly, "but Lord Twyin will expect us to stand and fight. We shall fight for a time, then depart, leaving Riverrun fully garrisoned and stocked for a long siege. The rest of us shall retreat to Seagard, and link up with the fleets. The fleets shall carry us south along the coast, where we shall take both Feastfires to the west..." Dagher pointed to the coastal fortress on the map. "...and Crakehall to the south. If an army marching north along the ocean road tries to reinforce Lannisport, our forces will be able to intercept them. With those two locations secure, we can focus our full attention on Lannisport and - the grandest prize of all - Casterly Rock."

Victarion's temper cooled rapidly.

Ser Byrnden swallowed. "That's a bold plan, Willis," he said. Dagher felt the apprehension in the knight's voice. "I must ask: How do you plan to lift the siege of Riverrun once you've retreated?"

"Good question, Ser. And I have an answer. With our forces in retreat, Tywin will believe that we are no longer a threat, and will lay siege to Riverrun. But once Lannisport and Casterly Rock come under threat, Tywin will move to west to meet us, leaving Riverrun free of besiegers. Casterly Rock and the surrounding area control the realm's wealthiest gold mines - Tywin won't risk losing those."

"What makes you say that, Willis?" asked Winston.

"Because I wouldn't risk their loss either."

Winston nodded approvingly. Despite spending his entire career in the Navy, Dagher was proving to be surprisingly adept at ground tactics. He would have made a fine General.

"But that still leaves one issue," Dagher continued. "We need to cut off Tywin's retreat back east through the mountains; use the west's source of wealth against them." He pointed to a fortress within the western mountains that dominated the westerlands. "This castle, the Golden Tooth, controls the only road between the Westerlands and the Riverlands: the river road. It runs through a mountain pass. Once Tywin's army is through the pass, we shall need to take it ourselves, and trap the Lannister army in the westerlands. According to my spies, that castle is strong and well defended, but I believe a small team of a few dozen men can take the keep by entering through the mountains, where the defenses are lacking. With the Golden Tooth secure, Tywin and his army will be trapped in the Westerlands."

"I can think of some men who'd be up to the challenge," said Winston. "Men who are skilled at traversing rough terrain."

"As can I, General. Once this meeting is adjourned, have them prepare."

"Yes sir."

Ser Brynden cleared his throat. "Admiral, what if Tywin doesn't lift the siege? How will Riverrun get reinforcements? If the Lannister forces remain..."

"There is an old path running through the mountains north of the Golden Tooth. An army can traverse it, albeit slowly."

"Ah yes, I remember that path. King Robb Stark used it to get his army into the Westerlands."

"Rest easy, Ser Brynden. If Riverrun needs reinforcements, we can get them to you."

"What of Dagmar and his crews at Torrhen's Square?" Victarion asked. "I plan on sending more men to support them."

Dagher nodded. "As do I, your Grace. I'm sending two more ships north. I trust you'll take similar action?"

"Yes, yes," Victarion growled. "I'll send at ten longships up that way. Maybe more."

"Good. With a presence in the North, we can campaign against the hated House Bolton, and rally the northmen to our banner."

"You'll need someone of Stark blood to help you win over the northmen," Brynden added. "They are notoriously stubborn."

Dagher didn't reply. Instead he looked about at the three men, issuing orders. "Ser Brynden Tully, you have command of the garrison at Riverrun. Ready the castle for a sustained siege. The Stark loyalists that have marched with us are under your command. General, you have command of all Ferenese ground forces. Gather a force to assault the Golden Tooth, and ready the rest of troops for battle. Work with Ser Brynden to ensure that the castle is fully manned and has adequate stores. Your Grace, you remain in charge of all ironborn forces. Lend some men to Riverrun's garrison, and prepare the rest for battle. You'll be fighting alongside General Winston's forces when the Lannister army arrives. Let's get to work, gentlemen. May the Ancestors, the Seven, and the Drowned God watch over us. This meeting is adjourned."

The monarch, general, and knight filed out of the tent, the flaps folding shut behind them. Once they had departed, Ferenese spymaster Liam Jones entered the tent. The young man wore unassuming civilian clothing of grey and brown beneath a woolen cloak. Only the badge displaying a blue cross on his breast marked him as a soldier.

"What news, Liam?" Dagher asked, still standing at the head of the table.

"House Lannister's fleet is at just over half of its full strength. Word is that a huge vessel attacked the harbor and decimated the warships moored there."

Dagher smiled faintly. "That was Captain Collins' work, lad. I had ordered him to scout the bay's defenses, and to prevent House Lannister's ships from putting to sea. Yesterday a raven arrived from Torrhen's Square with a message from Richard. He claims that Ser Daven Lannister ordered his fleet to attack the _Revenge_. Needless to say, Richard and his crew defended their vessel with guns. Asha Greyjoy and her crew were also present for the battle."

"Does she live?" asked the spy.

"Aye. Both she and Captain Collins are at Torrhen's Square."

"And sharing a bed, no doubt."

Dagher paused, scratching his chin. "They are lovers?" Liam nodded. "Interesting. This could prove beneficial. Now, back to the West. What else do you have for me?"

"The Lannisters are holding two political hostages within Casterly Rock: Edmure Tully and Jeyne Westerling."

Dagher was silent for a moment. "Please come closer," he said at last.

Liam obliged, moving to stand directly beside the Admiral.

"Liam, we both know that the widow of Robb Stark _must_ remain alive. If Ser Daven orders her executed, we risk losing the support of the Stark loyalists that now follow us. That includes Ser Brynden Tully. Therefore Liam, I'm sending you on the most dangerous mission of your career. You must take a few of your best men, infiltrate Casterly Rock, and smuggle the hostages out of the castle. Once out, travel west to the fortress of Feastfires. There you'll link up with the fleet. Do not approach Feastfires until the Navy has secured it for the Republic. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir. I understand."

Dagher put a hand on Liam's shoulder. "Good luck, spymaster. May the Ancestors watch over you. Dismissed."

Liam withdrew from the tent, leaving Admiral Willis Dagher alone with his thoughts. This was going to be a rough campaign.


	14. Tywin III

The army of House Lannister was on the move. Leading the thirty thousand-strong host and mounted atop a white gelding was Tywin Lannister. Beside him rode King Tommen Baratheon, riding his own brown mare with a gold crown perched on his head. Three Kingsguard knights including Jaime surrounded them, their white armor and shields burnished to a shine. Behind the royal party marched some five thousand armored, mounted men - the vanguard of House Lannister's army. Tywin had placed Ser Gregor Clegane in charge of the vanguard. The monstrously huge knight had little mind for tactics, but made up for that with sheer combat prowess. With Riverrun just one league away, Tywin knew that the army was going to fight this morning and he needed the most skilled combatants available at the fore. Behind the army marched the crossbowmen - another five thousand men, all afoot and armed with heavy crossbows. The crossbows fired broadhead bolts capable of punching clean through heavy plate armor; they were Tywin's answer to the Ferenese fire-spears. The army's remaining twenty thousand soldiers were a mix of infantry and cavalry from both Lannister and other houses sworn to them or to the Iron Throne directly. All were armed, armored, and ready for battle, as was Tywin himself and his monarch grandson.

"Grandfather, why is mother at the back of the army?" Tommen asked. His breath misted in the cool autumn air.

"Because battle is a king's business," Tywin replied gruffly. "All kings must learn the ways of war. Do you remember what I taught you about tactics, your grace?"

Tommen nodded.

"Good. Today you will put those lessons into practice."

Riverrun came into view as the army emerged from the treeline. The ground ahead rose on a low, steady incline to the east before sloping back south toward the castle, standing on its own island that spanned nearly as wide as the river itself. The remnants of a camp were visible just beyond the hill. At the crest of the low hill stood four unusual devices. At first glance, they appeared to be simple carts with long, compact bells mounted on them. Men wearing blue uniforms were clustered around them. One of the devices belched smoke and made a booming noise like a distant thunder clap. A patch of soil twenty paces to Tywin's left erupted into the air as something struck it. Cries of surprise and alarm rose up from the Lannister soldiers but quickly subsided, the sergeants quelling the noise.

"What in the Seven's name was _that_?!" Tommen exclaimed, his voice breaking.

"That was a cannon, your grace," said Jaime. "It's a tube of metal that shoots a heavy steel ball through the air. Think of it as a fire-spear, only much larger."

Tommen nodded with noticeable unease. The cannon had shaken him. Fear was setting in to the boy king. That couldn't be allowed to continue.

"Remember your grace," Tywin continued, distracting Tommen, "that the cannon is just one weapon." Tywin pointed at the low hill. "Four cannons alone will not defeat our army. To challenge our host, the enemy will need an army of their own."

"Where is their army, grandfather? Inside the castle?"

Tywin gestured at the landscape ahead. "Watch the land, your grace. And be ready. The enemy will no doubt be taking to the field soon."

As the King, his Hand, and the Kingsguard watched, the army of the Ferenese Republic marched out onto the field of battle. Some emerged from the fortress, but most marched east from the direction of their old camp. The Ferenese infantry marched in orderly formations two ranks deep, each rank containing a thousand men. Their weapons, their deadly fire-spears, were balanced on their right shoulders. Each formation carried its own battle standard: a blue cross on a field of gold. Tywin thought that, by appearance alone, they looked much like any army that one would encounter in Westeros. Only their fire-spears, blue tunics and tricorner hats set them apart from Westerosi combat attire. Cavalry units, both light and heavy, rode out ahead of the infantry. Compared to their brothers in the infantry, the Ferenese cavalrymen appeared no different from mounted Westerosi fighters. The heavy cavalry wore plate armor while the light wore leather, almost exactly the same as in the Iron Throne's host (the Westerosi light cavalry wore mail instead of leather). The artillery detachment, still atop the hill was, completely foreign to the Lannister Lord, and indeed foreign to all of Westeros. Tywin looked forward to seeing how the presence of cannons would affect the battle. Finally, a host of two thousand ironborn raiders emerged from both the camp and the castle, banners held aloft as they marched. Tywin recognized sigils of Houses Greyjoy, Harlaw, Drumm, and several others, but it was the golden kraken that drew his attention. Riding beneath it was Victarion Greyjoy, whom the Hand recognized even at a great distance. If the King of the Iron Islands was present, it meant that the ironborn had an ulterior motive for partaking in the battle; a motive that went beyond taking a share of the spoils if they won. What could that be? Tywin pushed the thought aside as he needed to focus his full attention on the fight ahead.

"It must be time to get the army in place," said Tommen as he watched the enemy.

"Correct, your Grace," Tywin confirmed. He looked over his shoulder. "Clegane!"

The huge knight rode up to the Hand, stopping his powerful black horse just outside of the Kingsguard's defensive screen. His sturdy armor plates clanked as he moved. "Yes, my lord?"

"Have the army form line of battle. Get them into standard formation; vanguard at the center, infantry and crossbows on the flanks, cavalry in reserve. Then take charge of the van yourself."

"Right away, my lord." Ser Gregor saluted and then turned his horse and galloped back along the road, relaying Tywin's orders to unit commanders as he went. Footsteps sounded behind the King and his Hand as the army marched into position. Before long Tywin found himself looking at the backsides of the vanguard's mounted knights and men-at-arms. The royal host formed a nearly straight line of battle running straight north from the riverbank for one third of a mile. As Tywin watched, the Ferenese army arranged their forces in a similar fashion. The ironborn raiders took up position and form a shield wall on their southern flank by the river, to prevent the Westerosi forces from flanking them. The Ferenese light infantry formed a line of battle that ran straight north from the river, then curved slightly to the west following the contour of the hill. Heavy infantry outfitted with plate armor and armed with fire-spears occupied the center of the Ferenese line, just ahead of and below the cannons. Interestingly, their cavalry - both light and heavy - were being kept in reserve on both flanks. Why?

"Now your Grace," Tywin began instructing his grandson, "Notice how the enemy has-"

"My lord!" Jaime interrupted. "The enemy is sending an envoy forward. It appears they wish to talk."

Tywin looked back toward the field. Ten horsemen had ridden through the Ferenese line and were making their way east. The banners of House Greyjoy and the Ferenese Republic were held aloft behind them. The Hand turned his gaze to the young king. "Your grace?"

Tommen cleared his throat. "Let us meet them."

"Make way!" Jaime bellowed at the men-at-arms ahead. "Make way for the king!"

The royal party rode west through the vanguard's formation as men and horse gave ground for them to pass. On Tywin's orders, Ser Gregor Clegane, three mounted men-at-arms, and a royal standard bearer joined their envoy, matching their numbers to the Ferenese envoy's. The banner held by the young man-at-arms displayed the lion of Lannister and the crowned stag of Baratheon, combatant. The party's pace quickened as they passed through the lines and onto the field. The two envoys met a short time later, halting ten paces apart from each other.

Tywin studied the three men leading the Ferenese envoy. At the fore was a man of the Hand's own age wearing a partial set of plate armor over a black uniform. His hair was white beneath a dark tricorner hat, and his serious face bore the lines and color of a man who had spent many years at sea. A smallsword in a finely embroidered scabbard hung at his side. An air of confidence and authority surrounded the man. Tywin instinctively knew the man's identity; this was Admiral Willis Dagher. The man who commanded a force the likes of which Westeros hadn't seen since the Targaryen Conquest. On the Admiral's right was a tall, broad-chested warrior clad in full plate armor with a helmet shaped in the form of a kraken. Tywin instantly recognized the man as Victarion Greyjoy, King of the Iron Islands and a staunch opponent of the Iron Throne. His elder brother Balon had rebelled against the Iron Throne, now Victarion continued the family tradition of treason. On Dagher's left was another Ferenese officer clad in a partial set of plate armor and tricorner hat. His tunic, on the other hand, was blue instead of black, his golden hair lacked any gray strands, nor was his face noticeably weathered. Neither Jaime nor Ser Gregor had mentioned this man. Who was he? The situation contained too many unknowns for the Hand's liking. Ser Brynden Tully was not with them. Likely the man was preparing Riverrun for yet another siege, if he hadn't already.

Admiral Dagher saluted. "Hail his grace Tommen Baratheon," he said politely, "King of Westeros. I am Willis Dagher, Admiral of the Ferenese Navy. I represent the Republic's interests here in Westeros." He gestured to the men either side of himself. "With me is General Robert Winston..." The General nodded a silent greeting. "...and King Victarion Greyjoy. You, my lord, must be Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King."

"Correct, Admiral," said Tywin. "You are well informed. Now tell me why you have invaded this kingdom. On whose authority is your army here?"

"By _my_ authority, to start," Victarion spat.

Dagher held up a hand to silence the ironborn king. "A fair question, Lord Tywin. If you must know, it is on the orders of the Minister that I am here. He is to the Republic what your king is to these lands. Did you know that my people, the Ferens, are descended from the First Men? Your ancestors, the Andals, came from the east with your iron weapons and one God with seven aspects, driving us from our lands in the south. Those of us who couldn't flee north went west, across the Sunset Sea, where we found a new home in the Forest Islands. Now we've come to reclaim our old kingdoms. The First Men, Lord Tywin, have returned to Westeros."

Tywin shook his head dismissively. "I see." He turned to Victarion. "Captain Greyjoy, you have betrayed the Iron Throne by continuing your brother's rebellion, and now you are aiding foreign invaders."

"It's _your grace_," sneered Victarion, "And the ironborn stand with the Ferens because we share a common enemy: you." Victarion jabbed a finger for emphasis.

"Is there something particular that you want?" It was Tommen who asked. "A castle? A country? A seat on the Small Council?"

Dagher's cold stare softened for a moment when Tommen spoke. "Yes, your Grace, there _is_ something that we want. Turn over the Westerlands -including Lannisport - to the Republic, restore House Tully to their seat at Riverrun, grant independence to the Iron Islands, and we shall be at peace. Those are our terms. What say you, your grace?"

Tommen opened his mouth to respond, but Tywin interrupted. "You'll receive one third of the Westerlands but not Lannisport. Riverrun shall be returned to House Tully, and the Iron Islands shall be granted autonomy, not independence. That is our final offer." It was also the best offer that the Iron Throne could grant. Though he hadn't informed Dagher, Tywin planned to grant the Republic land to the northwest of Casterly Rock - including Castamere, The Crag, Banefort, and Ashemark. Those holdings held little in the way of natural resources or fertile farmland, and lacked access to central overland routes leading south, towards Lannisport. Turning them over to the Republic would cost House Lannister little of their wealth, and limit the Republic's ability to establish a permanent foothold in Westeros. Furthermore, the Republic had forged an alliance with the Iron Islands. If it the Republic held coastal land near the islands, then it was unlikely that the ironmen would continue raiding along the northeastern coast. Nothing breaks an alliance faster than betraying your allies.

The two officers conversed in whispers for a moment, then looked forward again. Dagher shook his head in disapproval. "Lord Tywin, you make a fair offer. However, I regret to inform you that we cannot, and _will not_, accept your terms. For the Republic's mission here in Westeros extends far beyond merely taking land to call our own."

"And the Iron Islands won't stand for anything short of full independence," Victarion added. He then kicked his horse ahead several paces, looking directly at Tommen. "Your grace, I speak to you now as a fellow monarch, and I urge you to make peace with the Republic. You don't understand just how powerful they are. Their forces have killed thousands of my countrymen in battle, and will do the same to yours. Have you seen one of their warships? They're unlike any other ship afloat, more castle than vessel. Just one carries dozens of cannons. If the Republic can soundly defeat the Iron Islands, just think about what they'll do to the Iron Throne."

Tommen nodded. "Thank you, your grace," the boy king said in a regal tone, which surprised Tywin. "I shall consider your words."

With that, Victarion bowed in his saddle, Dagher and Winston saluted, and then the Ferenese envoy turned and rode back to their army.

"I suggest that we prepare for battle, your grace," Tywin said as they watched the Admiral and his colleagues depart.

"Yes grandfather," Tommen muttered, then began to turn his horse.

Ser Gregor partially drew his sword. "Why not kill those upstarts now?" he growled.

Jaime put a hand on the monstrous knight's shoulder. "Because your king will not allow it. And neither will I."

With a grunt, the Mountain shook off Jaime's hand then followed his king back to the Westerosi host's line.

And so the Battle of Riverrun commenced.


	15. Gregor II

Ser Gregor Clegane returned to his position at the head of the vanguard once King Tommen's envoy was safely behind the Westerosi army's line. Turning his massive horse to face the enemy, Gregor examined his foe's arrangement. Five more cannons were being readied by soldiers in blue atop the hill's crest, bringing the enemy's artillery strength to nine guns. To the south, the ironborn still held their shield wall, a mobile barrier of wood running north from the river. Even at a distance Gregor could hear the ironmen banging on their shields and roaring insults, daring the Lannister troops to charge them. Behind the shield and slightly to the northwest stood a detachment of light cavalry, while just north of the shield wall a regiment of light infantry readied their fire-spears. The heavy infantry remained where they had stood before - at the center of the Ferenese line. North and curving west of them was the remainder of the Ferenese light infantry. Behind the hooked line of light infantry, the Ferenese heavy cavalry stood mounted and ready, their lances raised. Atop the hill on the artillery's north side, the Ferenese battle standard billowed in the breeze, marking Admiral Dagher's position.

Gregor looked over his shoulder at the mounted men-at-arms behind him, pointing a finger at the Ferenese standard. "Ten gold dragons to the man who beheads their commander!" he shouted. The men-at-arms cheered with enthusiasm, brandishing their weapons about.

While his men cheered, Gregor stole one last look around at the Westerosi host. Positioned on both sides of the vanguard were detachments of crossbowmen, each containing two thousand, five hundred men. Next to them were the regular men-at-arms, all of them outfitted with pikes, halberds, or poleaxes as their primary weapon, but each carried a secondary weapon as well. The banners of various houses fluttered in the breeze. One cavalry unit was held in reserve at each end of the Lannister host. Directly behind the vanguard, Lord Tywin Lannister and King Tommen Baratheon were surrounded by the Kingsguard and House Lannister's elite men-at-arms. King Tommen's banner of the lion and stag billowed over the boy monarch's crowned head. Just before looking away, Gregor thought he saw Tywin lean over to whisper something in the King's ear. Then the fighting began.

Smoke jetted from Riverrun's northeastern ramparts and atop the hill, followed by the familiar boom of cannons discharging. Heavy steel cannonballs careened through the air and slammed into men and horses and turf. Gasps and yelps of alarm carried up from the Westerosi ranks. Gregor shook his head in contempt. Too many of them hadn't seen artillery before, let alone faced it in open battle. Blades and hammers and arrows they could handle with ease, but firearms? Well, today the men of Westeros would learn that the Ferens and their guns were no more dangerous than any other foe. Ser Gregor himself aimed to prove it to them, even if he had to split a few of his own men's skulls.

Again the cannons fired. Gregor heard a shot whistle past his head before slamming into the ranks behind. Wounded men and horses cried pathetically in pain. The Mountain paid the casualties no mind. Men died in battle, and that pleased him. To Gregor's left, a detachment of Lannister crossbowmen began to advance, getting the enemy within range of their weapons. Minutes later the crossbowmen halted, raised their weapons, and loosed a volley. Thousands of bolts took to the air, casting shadows like a colossal murder of crows. The bolts arched downward and punched through armor and flesh as they accelerated towards the earth. Even at a distance Gregor could hear the cries of the Ferenese wounded and dying. Undeterred, the Ferenese Light Infantry on the enemy's right flank advanced within range of their own weapons and returned fire. Their line erupted in smoke as the fire-spears loosed their deadly projectiles. They also opened their ranks, doubling the spacing between individual soldiers, making it tougher for the Lannister crossbowmen to find a target. Gregor watched fewer Westerosi bowmen get hit than Ferenese soldiers, but more Westerosi men _stayed_ down. Even with its long reload time, a fire-spear was more lethal than a crossbow.

The infantry, and cavalry on the Lannister host's right flank began advancing at a march toward the Ferenese line. Gregor watched as the artillery on the hill shifted their fire towards the incoming troops. Plumes of dirt shot up from the ground as the cannonballs struck the topsoil. Men cried out in agony when each round careened through their ranks. The Ferenese light infantry on the enemy's left flank held their ground and raised their fire-spears. Once the Lannister soldiers came within range, the Ferens opened fire, sending volley after volley of shots across the field. The advancing infantry broke into a charge as they neared the Ferenese line, while the cavalry circled around to the northwest, then back south, galloping straight at the Ferens' unprotected left flank. Unfortunately for the Lannister horsemen, The detachment of Ferenese heavy cavalry positioned there spotted the flanking attempt and rushed to intercept. The two opposing cavalry units met at a charge, with the Ferens crashing into the Lannister cavalry's right flank as they attacked the Ferenese infantry. A confused melee ensued as blades flashed, pistols fired, lances splintered, men screamed and horses collapsed. The Ferenese infantry stopped shooting and fixed bayonets. Seconds later, the Lannister troops were upon them, and another melee broke out.

A Lannister horseman rode up beside the Mountain. "Ser Gregor," the horseman said plainly, "Lord Tywin orders the vanguard to advance and engage the enemy's center. Immediately."

Gregor gave the horseman a wicked stare through his helmet's visor. "Understood, now _scram_!" he growled. The horseman, intimidated, turned his mount and departed. "Vanguard, on me!" the Mountain roared over his shoulder. "It's time to spill blood. For the king!" With that, Gregor hefted his shield and lance, then broke his stallion into a trot. Over a thousand armored and mounted men-at-arms followed his lead, their lances bristling. As the vanguard advanced, the Ferenese artillery on the hill opened fire on them. Men on Gregor's left and right went down as the shots found their mark. On the hill, just left of the artillery, Gregor spotted the high-ranking Ferenese officers. At their center was Admiral Dagher himself. Only a small detachment of infantry surrounded them. That gave the Mountain an idea...

The heavy infantry at the foot of the hill rapidly reformed themselves into a hollow square formation, two ranks deep, with their commander in the center. They then raised their fire-spears, making ready to fire. Ser Gregor lowered his lance and sent his horse into a gallop. Behind him the vanguard followed suit. The Mountain's voice broke into a roar as his horse closed the distance to the enemy.

Hundreds of fire-spears threw smoke and lead at the Westerosi vanguard. Blood flew from the muzzle of Gregor's horse. The mountain dropped his lance and threw himself free of the stallion as the beast went down. Around him more horses and men-at-arms fell while the rest of the vanguard continued the charge. With some effort, Gregor forced himself to his feet and drew his greatsword, which he handled effortlessly in one hand. Ahead of him the vanguard slammed into the Ferenese heavy infantry.

It was like watching water strike a stone. Just before the vanguard struck home, the Ferenese fixed bayonets and then fired one last volley, causing the foremost Westerosi riders to go down, and those behind them to trip over the fallen mounts and men. The front Ferenese rank then got down on one knee with their fire-spears held forward at an angle. Any horseman that charged the Ferenese square would end up with a blade in his mount's chest. Over the din of battle, Gregor just barely heard another knight order the vanguard to break off their attack, which they did in a somewhat orderly manner. That same knight also made the mistake of passing too close to the Mountain. After sheathing his sword, Gregor grabbed hold of the strange knight's reins, pushed the surprised man out of the saddle, and mounted the horse, which struggled under his weight. Gregor steered the destrier towards Admiral Dagher's position and kicked the horse to a gallop. With some luck, the Mountain managed to ride around the heavy infantry's square. A shot whistled past his head, while two more ricocheted off his cuirass. The Mountain drew his sword and charged straight at the Admiral. Predictably, the infantry guarding the officers made ready their weapons. Gregor prepared to jump right before the soldiers fired.

He was too slow. The soldiers discharged their weapons. Gregor's stolen mount went down, hooves flailing, and landed across his legs, pinning him down. Gregor's shield slid free of his left arm during the fall. By the time Gregor pushed the dying horse off of himself, Dagher and the other officers were retreating. Only twelve of their guards remained behind. The Mountain stood up and drew his sword. "DAGHER!" he roared, "Come and face me, you pile of filth!" The Admiral, if he heard Gregor, seemed to take no notice.

The twelve Ferenese soldiers fixed bayonets to their fire-spears. Gregor charged them and behead the nearest soldier with single stroke. Another tried to stab Gregor's hip, only for his face to be smashed by the pommel of Gregor's sword. Two more Ferens were cleaved almost in half and the remaining seven all died short of at least one limb. The Mountain wasn't even scratched.

Gregor stood alone atop the hill; his armor, surcoat and blade were all stained with blood. He looked around at the battlefield. To the north, the Ferens had repelled the Westerosi attacks, but were rapidly retreating to the northeast while the Lannister crossbowmen tried to get in range. The artillerymen on the hill had secured their cannons and caissons to teams of horses and were hastily making their way down the hill. Down by the river, Lannister crossbows were raining bolts down onto the ironmen and the remaining Ferenese forces. Most of the surviving Ferens retreated east around the hill and then to the northeast. The remaining hostile forces - including all of the ironmen - fled into the castle, seeking safety behind Riverrun's walls. In their haste to prevent Westerosi forces from entering, the castle gates were closed too soon, stranding a number of Ferenese soldiers on the field. They were quickly killed or captured by ravenous Westerosi men-at-arms.

With a cheer, the Mountain triumphantly raised his sword in victory. The Iron Throne had won the day.


End file.
